BLITHESOME 
*  JOTTINGS  * 

A  Diary  of 
Humorous  Days 

BY     GERTRUDE     SANBORN 


BOSTON 
THE    FOUR    SEAS    COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY 
THB  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 


The  Four  Seas  Press 

BOSTON,    MASS.,   U.  S.  A. 


TO 
MT   FATHER 


2018810 


PREFACE 

IT  is  my  custom  when  haunting  miseries 
assail  me,  when  the  dark  deeds  of  my 
ancestors  assume  gigantic  proportions, 
and  the  failure  of  the  iceman  to  leave  the 
specified  hunk  throws  me  into  a  double  Hades 
of  wrath,  to  glide  swiftly  to  the  medicine 
chest  and  secure  a  pellet  from  the  calomel 
bottle.  One  grain  of  calomel  can  overcome 
a  ton  of  morbid  fancies,  misunderstoodness, 
black  haze  on  bleak  hills,  and  the  whole 
category  of  self  assailed  by  self.  I  have  found 
this  inner  assault  more  destructive  than  cats 
on  a  back  fence  at  midnight,  than  a  cook 
subsequent  to  orders  of  discharge,  than  a 
maple  nut  marshmallow  fruit  sundae  on  a 
hot  night.  Then,  too,  I  was  always  a  melan- 
choly unit  until  I  was  initiated  into  the  great 
order  of  Habit.  I  have  learned  that  one  may 
pick  and  choose  one's  own  habit  of  life.  I 
laid  down  my  drooping,  dispirited  habit,  and 
when  no  one  was  about,  I  knocked  it  off  the 
counter  into  the  vinegar  barrel.  It  drowned 


there.  Then  I  skillfully  annexed  an  entirely 
new  habit,  and  slinging  it  over  my  chest 
wrapped  it  tight  round  my  throat  and  tucked 
it  in  at  the  waist.  A  little  ticket  fastened  into 
the  neckband  of  my  new  habit  is  marked 

Style Happiness 

Made  by    Perpetual  Good  Cheer 

Size 365  days 

Thus  attired  in  blithesome  garb,  and  forti- 
fied by  a  liver  pellet,  I  dedicate  my  days  to 
humorous  jottings  for  the  exhilaration  of 
those  dreary  ones  among  you  who  have  not 
yet  found  the  magic  combination. 

GERTRUDE    SANBORN. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MY  ACCOMPLISHMENTS     .....         5 

I  SPAR  WITH  THE  H.  C.  OF  L.    .         .         .         .11 

THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN       .     '    ,         .       13 
GEORGE  OF  THE  POLICE  ....       25 

A  BENEFICENT  MOOD        .         .         .         .         .31 

EFFICIENCY     .......       38 

EXPENSIVE  GARDENING    .         .         ...'..         -42 

FROM  BUN  TO  BUN  .....       46 

THE  MONEY  KING  AND  THE  SCRUBWOMAN    .         .       50 
LINE'S  BUSY  .......       54 

No  EXCUSE 58 

MONDAY  MORNING  MOPES        ....       62 
Music  IN  THE  PARK          .....       64 

OUT  OF  AN  OUTING 67 

MOVIES  .......      70 

BEATING  IT  OFF  THE  BEAT        ....       77 

THE  MAN  AND  His  DOLLAR       ....       82 

A  NEGATIVE  PURCHASE    .....       86 

UNTRANSLATABLE 91 

THE  MAN  WHO  LISTENED          .         .         •         •       93 
IDENTIFICATION        .         .         .         .         .         .96 

TIRED  BUT  ATTIRED 99 

VERY  SUSPICIOUS 102 

WEARING  OF  THE  LONG  GREEN  ....     105 
A  DATE  WITH  FATE 109 


BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

JOTTING   THE    FIRST 

MY  ACCOMPLISHMENTS 

T  HAVE  studied  neither  isms  nor  ologies. 
•*•  I  am  partially  uneducated.  But  I  know 
how  to  hold  a  soup  spoon  and  how  not  to  dig 
fellow  guests  in  the  ribs,  with  my  elbows,  at 
dinner.  I  am  sufficiently  versed  in  the  ameni- 
ties to  abstain  from  grapevining  my  legs  about 
the  rounds  of  my  chair.  But  the  repartee 
of  a  foreigner  embarrasses  me.  When  an 
Italian  black  hander  threatens  to  abduct 
my  family,  put  a  bomb  in  the  bath  tub,  or 
curse  a  fresh  batch  of  dough,  I  smile.  I  think 
he  is  inviting  me  home  to  help  his  wife  eat 
spaghetti. 

When  a  Pole  orates  on  the  valorous  deeds 
of  his  countrymen  I  conclude  he  is  enumer- 
ating the  number  of  men  that  work  with  him 

5 


6  BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

at  the  International  Harvester  shops.  When 
a  Frenchman  pours  forth  his  liquid  chatter, 
salutes  the  sun,  points  to  his  cigarette,  and 
bows  profoundly,  I  think  he  is  asking  my 
hand  in  marriage  and  I  take  the  next  car  back 
to  where  I  came  from. 

With  a  Norwegian  it  is  a  little  different. 
Ninety-nine  times  out  of  ninety-nine  I  am 
sure  to  be  right  in  supposing  that  he  is  offering 
to  sell  me  hardanger  drawn  work  for  three 
times  the  amount  he  paid  for  it,  or  enlighten- 
ing me  upon  every  common  place  topic  under 
the  sun  which  he  knows  a  great  deal  more 
about  than  I  do. 

All  the  years  I  spent  at  school  I  stared 
idly  from  a  window.  I  have  become  more 
and  more  proficient,  with  the  advancing  years, 
in  the  art  of  gazing  through  windows.  It 
is  no  mean  task  to  become  thoroughly  con- 
versant with  Mrs.  Other's  spring  outfit, 
from  revamped  hat  brim  to  mouse-colored 
skirt.  These  articles  I  suspect  of  having 
been  shipped  in  by  her  home  town  dress- 
maker who  concocts  "the  swellest  rigs  at 
half  the  price  of  these  here  duds  in  the  city." 
Nor  is  it  a  light  task,  during  the  inspection, 


MY  ACCOMPLISHMENTS  7 

to  prevent  Mrs.  Other  from  noticing  me  and 
to  prevent  myself  from  mussing  the  lace 
curtains,  freshly  dried  in  the  back  yard  on  a 
frame  by  the  faithful  maid.  (Nobody  has 
offered  her  more  yet.) 

I  eat  most  of  my  meals  in  restaurants.  On 
those  rare  occasions  when  I  do  dine  at  my 
own  board  I  eat  anything  the  maid  happens 
to  like.  At  night  I  sleep  on  a  lounge  to  avoid 
wrinkling  the  sheets  on  my  bed.  I  absent 
myself  three  nights  a  week  so  that  the  maid 
may  sit  in  the  living  room  surrounded  by 
the  comforts  and  refinements  of  a  home. 

As  the  maid  cannot  bring  herself  to  ap- 
prove of  my  friends  I  have  cut  almost  every- 
body from  my  calling  list.  All  but  the 
postman  who  brings  letters  from  the  maid's 
beau  when  he  is  out  of  town  and  who  has 
an  admiring  eye  for  her  blonde  beauty  and 
is  sent  hither  by  the  government.  I  feel 
very  grateful  to  the  government,  indeed 
whenever  the  thrilling  ring  of  the  doorbell 
wakes  my  solitude. 

The  maid  doesn't  approve  of  old  Mrs. 
Comover,  next  door,  who  brings  in  fruit, 
beans  and  primroses  from  her  garden.  She 


8  BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

says  fruit  is  a  bother  to  cook,  beans  have  to 
be  strung,  and  her  friend  Ella  gets  poisoned 
with  them  blamed  primroses.  So  of  course, 
under  the  circumstances,  there  is  nothing 
to  do  but  insult  Mrs.  Comover,  beat  her 
with  a  piece  of  lead  pipe  or  tell  her  we  have 
smallpox.  Anything  to  wipe  her  off  the 
calling  list. 

I  spend  many  pleasant  hours  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  furnace  however.  The  maid 
likes  to  be  warm.  Back  in  the  old  country, 
where  she  came  from,  she  had  to  lug  wood, 
build  fires  and  empty  ashes.  There  was 
no  one  to  do  it  for  her.  But  here  she  has  me. 
She  is  not  a  person  who  loses  opportunities 
for  betterment,  so  while  I  wearily  plod  over 
the  dusty  floor,  in  the  bowels  of  my  estab- 
lishment, shoveling  in  coal,  she  sits  on  the 
first  floor  and  sings,  with  piano  accompani- 
ment, that  beautiful  old  melody  concerned 
with  the  status  of  a  being  who  is  as  free  as  a 
bird  from  the  mountain. 

But  distressing  as  this  situation  may  seem, 
from  a  philosophical  standpoint  it  is  really  a 
blessing  in  disguise.  For  it  is  thus  that  I 
have  become  an  accomplished  fireman.  If 


MY  ACCOMPLISHMENTS  9 

worst  comes  to  worst  I  can  always  secure  a 
stoking  job  in  the  yawning  interior  of  a  sea 
going  craft,  or  knock  down  a  fair  weekly 
wage  behind  a  shovel  in  a  boiler  factory. 
Everyone  should  have  some  one  accomplish- 
ment, something  to  tie  to  in  an  hour  of  need. 

This  bringing  up  of  American  girls  in  utter 
disregard  of  the  wisdom  of  training  for  jobs 
is  deplorable.  I  do  not  know  that  had  I 
made  a  choice  I  should  have  picked  the  avo- 
cation of  a  fireman,  thrilling  and  rigorous 
though  it  be.  But  now  that  it  has  picked 
me,  as  it  were,  I  submit.  Over  my  cool 
breakfast  coffee,  which  my  maid  kindly 
brings  me  after  she  has  had  hers  hot,  and  my 
hard  morning  roll  with  its  thin  coating  of 
something  almost  like  butter,  almost  as 
expensive  I  mean,  I  smile  complacently.  I 
know  that  if  these  luxuries  are  grabbed  from 
me  by  grasping  Fate,  I  still  have  my  calling, 
avocation,  profession — I  am  a  qualified  fire- 
man. Engineering  Trade  journals,  Coal, 
Coke  and  allied  publications  please  notice. 

In  the  afternoon  the  maid  usually  does  a 
great  deal  of  talking  over  the  telephone  when 
I  am  trying  to  dovetail  an  adjective  into  a 


io          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

noun.  But  who  am  I  to  forbid  the  free 
speech  of  a  maid?  I  go  down  to  the  depot, 
where  it  is  a  great  deal  quieter,  and  write. 
I  could  hug  the  depot  architect.  He  has 
made  it  possible  for  me  to  eat  a  hard  boiled 
egg  in  a  charming  nook,  under  a  stained 
glass  window,  in  comparative  peace. 

Truly  I  am  receiving  an  inflexible  training 
at  the  hands  of  my  maid.  Among  the  list 
of  things  that  for  me  are  taboo  are:  friends 
that  my  maid  does  not  like;  food  that  I  like; 
sleep  in  the  morning;  economy;  whole  sets 
of  dishes;  any  infinitesimal  service  before 
9  a.  m.  or  after  5  p.m.;  luncheon  for  trips  to 
the  country;  ideas  as  to  management;  chil- 
dren; more  than  two  bedrooms;  starched 
clothes;  illness  of  any  kind;  furniture  where 
I  want  it;  sofa  pillows;  pictures  stuck  in 
mirrors;  cleaning  by  old-fashioned  methods; 
the  expectation  of  any  kind  of  endeavor  that 
would  cause  a  puny  mosquito  to  strike. 

For  this  state  of  thing  I  can  merely  com- 
miserate myself  for  having  been  born  in  the 
poetic  class,  where  all  is  hard  work  and  no 
pay,  instead  of  in  the  piratic  class  where  all 
is  high  pay  and  no  work. 


JOTTING   THE    SECOND 

I  SPAR  WITH  THE  H.  C.  OF  L. 

"  /TPHIS  high  cost  of  living  agitation  is  no 

^  joke,"  said  a  man  to  me  this  morning 
as  he  paid  in  his  ticket  and  stood  up  while  the 
car  bumped  over  the  crossings.  An  utter 
stranger  had  mistaken  his  tan  shoes  for  a 
cocoa  mat  and  a  frisky  giant  was  leaning  on 
his  chest. 

"Nope,"  I  returned  from  where  I  was 
flattened  out  against  the  heater. 

"Of  course  we  spend  a  lot  of  money  fool- 
ishly," continued  the  man,  "but  I  congratu- 
late myself  on  being  pretty  economical  when 
it  comes  to  clothes.  Now  these  shoes  cost 
me  #5,  and  I'll  wear  'em  six  months;  my  hat 
was  $3.50  and  my  suit  #25." 

"  Do  you  eat  downtown  at  noon  ? "  I  queried 
irrelevantly. 

"Yep,  every  day  but  Sunday." 

I  got  out  a  notebook  and  pencil.     There 


11 


12          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

was  silence  while  the  car  ran  a  block.  The 
man  looked  a  bit  piqued;  he  had  one  of  those 
tongues  that  prefer  active  service. 

"Well,"  said  I  finally,  "I  figure  out  that 
your  wardrobe  will  have  cost  you  at  the  end 
of  six  months  just  $82.90.  You  have  your 
shoes  shined  every  other  day  at  a  cost  of 
10  cents,  making  a  total  of  $7.80  for  six 
months;  suit  pressed  once  a  week  at  $i  a 
pressing,  making  $26;  10  cents  to  get  your 
lid  out  of  a  restaurant  every  day,  a  total  of 
$15.60.  Total  $49.40.  Added  to  original 
cost  of  hat,  shoes  and  suit  it  reaches  $82.90. 

"Do  you  figure  everything  out  like  that?" 
asked  the  man  in  a  weak  voice. 

"Pretty  nearly.  Especially  when  I  get 
too  chesty  about  how  little  Pm  spending. 
Here's  my  corner.  Good-by." 

"Bye,"  said  the  man. 


JOTTING   THE   THIRD 

THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN 

TT  was  Saturday.  Inga,  the  new  maid, 
-*•  was  dusting  bric-a-brac  and  I  was  eating 
chocolates  when  father  came  in  hurriedly. 

"The  city  is  so  noisy,"  he  blustered, 
"  suppose  we  go  into  the  country  for  the  week 
end.  I  must  get  some  rest  before  the  di- 
rectors' meeting  on  Monday." 

"Let's  go  to  Hefferson,"  I  suggested.  "I 
saw  the  name  on  a  time  table  and  it  sounds 
like  a  quiet  country  town." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  father,  "get  your  things 
packed.  We'll  sleep,  cool  off  and  be  re- 
juvenated." 

I  closed  my  desk  and  shrouded  my  type- 
writer. Inga  got  down  my  suit  case.  She 
carries  her  clothes  in  a  paper  box  stoutly 
tied  with  string  saved  from  the  butcher's 
packages.  She  pushed  open  the  screen  door 

13 


14          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

and  looked  out  through  the  aperture  at  the 
western  sky.  A  band  of  marauding  flies 
took  this  opportunity  to  join  us. 

"Can't  you  see  through  the  screen?"  I 
called  testily.  "I  can." 

She  ignored  my  implied  correction.  Then 
she  went  to  packing.  The  weather  was  clear 
and  fine,  if  hot.  Inga  packed  a  pair  of  rubbers 
and  my  sweater.  Possibly  Norseland  erudi- 
tion had  divined  a  rupture  between  the  brush 
and  comb,  something  in  the  nature  of  a  legal 
separation,  for  the  brush  was  put  in  while 
the  comb  remained  behind. 

Finally,  everything  packed  that  I  didn't 
need  and  all  the  articles  necessary  to  my 
comfort  omitted,  we  were  off.  Father,  with 
much  foresight  gained  by  divers  trips  over 
the  landscape  in  palace  cars  had  purchased 
tickets  for  our  chairs  in  advance.  We  climbed 
aboard  the  train  after  perspiring  and  mopping 
and  identifying  everybody's  else  baggage 
as  our  own.  Numbers  15,  17  and  19  had 
been  assigned  to  us  as  the  particular  up- 
holstered racks  on  which  we  were  to  broil 
and  bake,  very  elegantly,  all  the  way  to 
Hefferson.  In  the  coaches  ahead  the  mob 


THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN  15 

was  vulgarly  hanging  from  the  windows, 
handkerchiefs  under  chins,  catching  any  stray 
breeze  that  came  along.  But  there  is  no 
real  breeze  in  a  palace  car.  The  vitiated 
air  that  hovers  over  MacArthur  is  suddenly 
sent  whistling  down  to  DePeyster  at  the 
other  end  of  the  car  when  somebody  throws 
the  current  into  the  electric  fan.  DePeyster 
battles  for  breath  and  the  general  atmos- 
pheric heaviness  becomes  more  aggravated 
as  the  fan  drives  the  waves  back  and  forth 
over  bald  heads  and  across  perspiring  faces. 

The  patrons  of  the  palace  car  pay  to  be 
exclusive.  The  gum  chewing,  lunch  carrying 
gang,  in  the  coaches  ahead,  is  breathing  fresh 
air  through  the  open  windows  so  the  company 
has  thoughtfully  provided  a  place  where 
quiet,  exclusive  patrons  can  be  quite  separated 
from  ozone. 

We  found  chair  15.  A  stout  man  was  sitting 
in  it.  His  wife  sat  in  17.  She  was  also  in- 
clined toward  umbompom  (I  spell  it  as  it  is 
said  for  the  benefit  of  any  word  impoverished 
individual  who  has  not  had  the  advantage  of 
an  education  that  affords  the  glib  pronuncia- 
tion of  words  used  in  describing  the  elite). 


1 6          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Sir,"  said  father  pacifically  to  the  stout 
gentleman,  "I  hold  tickets  for  the  seats  you 
are  occupying." 

"Signifies  nothing.  I  hold  the  seats!" 
returned  the  stout  gentleman. 

Father  and  I  smiled  benignly.  Why  argue 
with  people  who  are  neither  traveled  nor 
brilliant?  When  the  porter  came  the  chairs 
were  ours.  All  the  rest  of  the  chairs  in  the 
car  being  occupied  the  stout  family  went 
grumbling  into  the  coach. 

"I  wonder  if  they  ain't  better  off,"  whis- 
pered Inga,  "wouldn't  you  call  this  stuffy?" 

"Stuffy!"  I  returned  disdainfully,  "you 
must  learn  to  discriminate.  You  must  cease 
to  yearn  for  low  class  things  when  you  are 
traveling  in  a  high  class  manner." 

"Uh  huh,  yah,"  answered  Inga  pulling  up 
the  shade  so  that  the  sun  struck  me  in  the 
eye  and  hanging  my  coat  so  the  lace  collar 
wiped  all  the  soot  from  the  woodwork. 

Presently  a  fine  white  dust,  resembling 
the  alkali  one  encounters  traveling  to  Cali- 
fornia, sifted  through  the  ventilators.  I  got 
out  my  pad,  borrowed  a  pencil  from  the 
porter  and  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  different 


THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN  17 

dusts  encountered  on  different  roads,  com- 
paring the  acrid,  tasteless,  thin  and  thick 
varieties.  Following  this  with  a  vivid  de- 
scription of  the  sights  that  might  be 
seen  if  it  were  not  for  the  opaqueness  of  the 
atmosphere,  I  mailed  the  whole  at  the  next 
town,  to  the  president  of  this  particular  road, 
accompanying  it  with  the  suggestion  that 
he  have  copies  run  off  and  handed  to  his 
patrons  so  that  when  viewing  the  scenery 
became  impossible,  reading  about  it  by  a 
well  known  author  could  be  substituted. 
The  president  never  answered  my  letter.  I 
suppose  he  was  traveling  abroad  or  confined 
to  his  bed. 

We  reached  Hefferson  station  at  4.10. 
Father  stepped  into  a  nearby  saloon.  Oh, 
dear  no,  father  never  drinks  anything.  He 
went  into  the  saloon  to  telephone  for  a  cab. 
Braver  than  Napoleon,  who  you  will  remem- 
ber, was  deterred  in  his  advance  on  St. 
Petersburg  by  clean,  gentle  snowflakes,  we 
advanced  on  Hefferson  in  a  fusilade  of  dust. 

The  proprietor  of  the  Hefferson  House  had 
gone  home  to  dinner.  After  eating  a  meal 
in  his  hotel  we  understood  his  anxiety  to  see 


1 8          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

the  home  folks  and  kiss  the  baby  three  times 
a  day.  Kissing  a  baby  hippo  would  have 
been  a  pleasure  compared  with  eating  the 
Hefferson  House  custard  pie. 

Our  rooms  were  large,  airy  and  opened  on 
the  public  square.  There  was  a  fat  man 
lying  on  my  bed  when  Inga  and  I  entered. 
He  stared,  arose  and  shuffled  out  into  the 
hall,  Inga  opened  my  suit  case  and  crammed 
its  contents  into  a  bureau  drawer.  Almost 
immediately  the  fat  man  returned,  coming 
through  the  door,  which  we  had  neglected 
to  close,  with  a  pillow  case,  towels  and  a  bar 
of  soap  in  his  hand. 

"I'll  put  another  pillow  case  on,"  he  said, 
"everybody  drops  into  this  room  to  lay  down 
and  it  had  ought  to  be  freshed  up  a  mite." 

"Won't  you  please  call  the  chambermaid?" 
I  said  peremptorily. 

"I'm  her,"  answered  the  fat  man.  "Pop 
ain't  hired  a  girl  fer  this  work  since  I  come 
out  of  school.  I  do  all  the  beds,  and  we've 
got  twenty  of  'em  and  I  do  all  the  dustin' 
and  sweepin'  and  empty  in'." 

After  tea  we  walked  about  the  town, 
viewing  the  public  buildings  and  getting 


THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN  19 

ourselves  into  a  receptive  state  anticipatory 
of  the  early  call  of  Morpheus. 

"No  need  to  hurry  in  the  morning"  in- 
structed father  as  he  bade  me  good-night, 
"we'll  have  a  long  comfortable  night  of  it, 
breakfast  late,  drive  in  the  afternoon,  another 
good  sleep  to-morrow  night  and  home  re- 
freshed and  rejuvenated  Monday.  I  shall 
call  you  about  nine  o'clock." 

While  I  undressed,  Inga  stared  from  the 
window  at  the  public  square. 

"Is  it  Noo  York  you're  always  telling  me 
has  such  grand  night  life,  say?  There's 
going  to  be  some  here,  looks  like,  too,"  Inga 
informed  me.  Certainly  the  stage  was  set, 
the  square  was  a  blaze  of  light.  There  were 
four  windows  in  my  room  and  I  was  obliged 
to  rise  eight  separate  times,  twice  to  each 
window,  first  to  pull  the  shade  down  between 
me  and  an  inquisitive  arc  light  and  second 
to  shut  the  window  because  the  shade  napped 
in  the  warm  breeze.  Finally  there  remained 
just  one  thing  more  to  do.  I  fought  off  the 
urgency  of  it  for  some  time,  my  legs  being 
tired  with  traveling  and  my  spirit  weary 
with  the  consequent  adjustments.  But  I 


20          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

had  to  do  it  at  last.  I  had  to  get  up,  climb 
onto  the  back  of  a  rocking  chair  one  foot 
on  the  wash  basin  and  one  hand  clutching 
the  door  jamb,  and  pin  my  black  petticoat 
across  the  transom  opening  into  the  hall 
through  which  a  red  fire  escape  light  was 
shining. 

Hermetically  sealed,  and  having  produced 
an  artificial  darkness  in  the  heart  of  a  bril- 
liantly illumined  town,  I  was  just  dropping 
off  to  sleep  when  nine  o'clock  struck  out 
from  a  nearby  tower  and  a  brass  band  struck 
up  from  the  square  below. 

I  squeezed  my  eyelids  together  determined 
to  let  no  single  note  in  on  my  consciousness, 
but  when  good  friend  Will  Tell  was  brutally 
dragged  forth  and  clubbed  and  heckled,  I 
arose  and  sat  by  the  window.  Tell  had 
given  me  many  pleasurable  hours  and  out 
of  respect  for  these  memories  it  was  appro- 
priate that  one  friendly  heart  should  bear 
him  company. 

Inga  got  out  of  bed  too  and  sewed  on  a 
bureau  scarf  she  was  making  to  send  to  her 
mother  in  Norway.  Marooned  on  an  island 
of  sleepless  hours  I  fell  to  thinking  of  that 


THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN  21 

other  wayfarer  Crusoe  and  his  faithful  ser- 
vant. Suppressing  a  lament  over  Inga's 
ineffectual  attempts  at  serving,  I  murmured 
"Oh,  for  a  Friday!" 

"A  fried  aigg,  say,"  echoed  Inga,  "you 
don't  seem  to  have  no  regard  for  your  stomach. 
I  suppose  you  want  me  to  go  to  the  kitchen 
and  hunt  up  something  for  you  to  eat,  but 
I  wouldn't  eat  fried  stuff  so  late,  if  I  was  you." 

Father  came  to  the  door,  and  finding 
me  up,  he  moved  a  brown  marble-topped 
table  into  the  center  of  the  room  and  we 
played  cards.  The  band  concert  was  over 
at  eleven,  and  when  the  shouting,  whistling 
crowd  had  thinned  out  somewhat,  we  all 
went  back  to  bed  again.  But  the  quiet 
was  short  lived.  The  band  had  not  gone 
far.  Just  across  the  square  stood  the  opera 
house  and  the  band  went  in  there  and  played 
until  morning  while  the  people  who  were 
not  shuffling  about  on  the  hotel  piazza 
danced. 

At  one  a.  m.  I  dropped  into  my  first  doze. 
Almost  immediately  someone  clumped  into 
the  washroom,  which  was  the  room  next  to 
mine,  and  turned  on  the  faucets  in  the  tub. 


22          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

He  took  a  long,  loud  bath  and  was  closely 
followed  by  six  other  persons.  I  gleaned 
during  the  course  of  the  next  hour,  that  these 
nocturnal  bathers  were  employees  of  the 
hotel.  The  barber,  the  cook,  the  porter,  a 
waitress,  another  waitress,  the  bus  driver 
and  last  of  all  the  male  chambermaid.  These 
various  ablutions  finally  brought  to  a  moist, 
steamy  finish,  I  drifted  off  to  dreamland, 
accompanied  by  a  strong  scent  of  cheap  soap 
which  came  leaking  in  under  the  sill  of  my 
door. 

Perhaps  you  have  been  at  the  front  when 
devilish  instruments  of  destruction  were  boom- 
ing; perhaps  you  have  been  around  when 
blasts  of  dynamite  lifted  chunks  of  the  earth's 
surface;  maybe  you  have  heard  a  boiler 
explode  or  have  become  intimately  acquainted, 
in  some  other  manner,  with  those  vast  sounds 
the  word  detonation  expresses.  But  have 
you  ever  been  asleep  in  a  country  hotel  when 
the  three  a.  m.  freight  struck  town  and 
switched?  And  switched?  And  switched? 

If  you  have  —  enough  said.  If  you  have 
not  —  well,  please  excuse  me,  will  you  ?  My 
vocabulary  is  not  sufficiently  full  to  attempt 


THAT  SLEEPLESS  COUNTRY  TOWN  23 

a  description  of  what  ninety  tons  of  engine, 
followed  by  forty-eight  rattling  bumping  emp- 
ties can  do  to  a  one-eighth  inch  eardrum. 

Of  course  I  got  out  of  bed  again,  rummaged 
in  my  emergency  toothache  kit  for  wads  of 
cotton,  stuffed  them  three  deep  in  my  ears 
and  sat  up  till  that  satanic  engineer  snorted 
on  his  way  through  the  sleeping  fields.  I 
noticed  the  arc  lights  were  out.  I  pulled 
up  all  the  shades,  opened  all  the  windows 
and  in  the  fresh  morning  air  prepared  to 
snooze.  My  nerves  tingled  so  I  practiced 
a  few  relaxing  exercises.  I  became  deliciously 
drowsy.  It  was  worth  a  half  night's  getting 
up  and  down  for.  A  wagon  rattled  over  the 
stones.  I  smiled  and  went  to  sleep  —  for 
a  moment. 

It  is  the  custom  in  some  country  hotels  to 
get  out  the  hose  early  Sunday  morning  and 
wash  the  porches.  This  was  one  of  those 
hotels.  There  now  emerged  from  the  bowels 
of  the  establishment  some  mysterious,  be- 
cause unseen,  being  who  turned  a  torrent  of 
water  loose  on  the  Saturday  night  peanut 
shells  and  cigar  stumps.  After  half  an  hour's 
flushing  of  the  porches,  the  being  invaded 


24  BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

the  office,  which  was  directly  under  my  room, 
and  the  dining  room,  which  was  beneath 
father's  apartment.  The  office  door  was 
heavy.  Every  time  the  mysterious  being 
moved  a  number  of  chairs,  dragging  them 
along  the  hardwood  floor  with  a  whawooshish 
sound,  he  banged  the  office  door.  I  looked 
at  my  watch.  It  was  five  o'clock. 

Rat-tat-tat  sounded  on  my  door. 

"Yes  — yes,  what  is  it?"  I  called. 

"There  is  a  train  back  to  the  city  in  half 
an  hour,"  came  father's  appealing  voice, 
"Can  you  get  ready?  I  want  to  get  back 
where  it  is  quiet.  I  must  get  some  rest 
before  the  director's  meeting  to-morrow." 


JOTTING   THE    FOURTH 

GEORGE  OF  THE  POLICE 


I  had  on  some  new  clothes. 
I  looked  nifty.  My  spirit  was  chort- 
ling with  glee. 

There  is  nothing,  no  highly  satisfying 
political  situation,  rise  in  wheat,  or  latest 
news  of  a  baseball  hero,  that  can  convey  to 
one's  whole  being  the  extreme  joy  brought 
on  by  a  new  piece  of  cloth  across  one's  back. 

I  pranced  down  the  street.  A  man  stepped 
out  of  a  store  and  turned  in  ahead  of  me.  His 
left  hand  was  in  his  coat  pocket.  I  did  not 
consider  it  necessary  to  be  suspicious  of  him 
at  that  time  on  this  account.  In  fact  I  did 
not  consider  him  at  all. 

I  nodded  gaily  to  acquaintances.  Meet- 
ing Mrs.  Tweedle,  I  asked  after  the  baby. 
When  informed  that  it  was  a  little  under  the 
weather  I  was  so  far  engrossed  in  my  own 
feelings  as  to  reply  "Oh,  really!"  in  just 

25 


26          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

the  warm  tone  I  might  have  used  for  con- 
gratulations, upon  receiving  news  that  its 
Uncle  Steve  had  died,  way  out  in  Dakota, 
leaving  a  ten  thousand  dollar  inheritance. 

Heigh-ho !  Blue  sky,  new  clothes  —  a  dog 
bumped  into  me.  I  looked  down.  He  looked 
up.  Very  carefully  I  drew  one  foot  in.  He 
was  standing  on  the  other  one. 

"Hello,  dog,"  I  said. 

This  was  a  mistake.  Never  address  a 
dog  unless  you  are  perfectly  sure  that  upon 
standing  on  his  hind  legs  he  can't  reach  your 
coat  collar.  To  this  end  it  might  be  well 
to  mentally  calculate  the  number  of  inches 
from  muzzle  to  hind  foot,  be  it  understood 
this  must  be  done  swiftly,  and  if  length 
doesn't  correspond  satisfactorily  with  one's 
particular  stature,  pass  rapidly  along  as 
though  bent  on  an  important  mission. 

Well,  I  made  a  mistake,  the  dog  did  the 
rest. 

He  walked  up  my  clothes  taking  an 
oblique  course  on  the  way  up  and  a  sort 
of  general  hit  and  miss  on  the  way  down. 
He  was  a  thorough  brute  and  something 
of  a  colorist.  He  had  recognized  me  in 


GEORGE  OF  THE  POLICE         27 

my  Palm  Beach  sand  shade  as  too  exuberant 
a  being. 

With  a  few  deft  touches  he  stamped  me  into 
a  muddy,  dauby  taupe.  I  saw  large  letters 
on  his  collar.  I  bent  over  it  and  read 
"George"  and  under  it  "Police  Department." 

A  chill  closed  in  on  me.  Police!  and  I 
was  still  carrying  the  gold  embossed  card 
case  I  had  picked  up  in  the  street  car  and 
neglected  to  turn  in  to  the  company. 

I  remembered  reading  that  the  sagacity 
of  these  dogs  is  wonderful.  No  doubt  he 
had  scented  the  card  case  and  knew  it  for 
an  alien  thing;  so  much  discovered,  he  had 
picked  me  for  a  thief. 

Or  perhaps  his  training  had  progressed  to 
such  a  pitch  that  the  unpaid  laundry  bill  in 
my  inner  pocket  was  disturbing  him.  At 
such  moments  many  dark  deeds  rise  out  of 
the  past  to  confront  one.  Frozen  with  ap- 
prehension, I  stared  at  the  dog.  He  darted 
off  and  capered  round  the  man  ahead  of  me. 
It  was  the  same  man  who  had  turned  out  of 
a  gate  with  one  hand  in  his  pocket  a  few 
moments  before.  The  man's  hand  went 
deeper  into  his  pocket. 


28          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

The  dog  circled  round  and  round.  Fre- 
quently he  came  back  and  looked  hard  at 
me.  Then  the  man  turned  and  peered  at 
me.  Next  he  bent  down  and  looked  at  the 
dog's  collar.  I  saw  his  start  of  surprise.  He 
took  his  hand  from  his  pocket  and  with  it  a 
long,  flat  parcel,  which  he  hugged  close  to 
his  chest,  keeping  it  in  place  with  both  hands. 
Ha,  a  thief!  thought  I  —  and  the  dog  is 
watching  him. 

The  next  few  moments  found  the  man, 
the  dog  and  myself  standing  on  a  corner 
looking  up  the  track  for  a  surface  car.  The 
dog  stood  midway  between  us,  alert  and 
keen-eyed.  The  man  stared  at  me.  I 
glanced  covertly  at  him.  The  situation  be- 
came strained. 

With  the  arrival  of  the  car,  George  very 
cleverly  hopped  on  board,  keeping  his  eye 
on  both  of  us. 

I  stepped  at  once  to  the  conductor  saying, 
"Here  is  a  card  case  I  found  on  a  car  several 
days  ago  and  forgot  to  turn  in,"  thereby 
clearing  my  character. 

"Whose  dog  is  this?"  howled  the  con- 
ductor. "Dogs  ain't  allowed  here." 


GEORGE  OF  THE  POLICE         29 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  said  "Per- 
haps he  is  with  this  gentleman." 

"No,  madam,"  returned  the  man,  "I 
thought  he  was,  ah  —  going  about  with 
you." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  returned  coldly;  "never 
saw  him  before,"  and  so  saying  I  entered 
the  car. 

"Here,  lady,  you  ain't  paid  your  fare!" 
bawled  the  conductor. 

I  returned  and  with  much  hauteur  dropped 
in  a  car  ticket. 

The  man  with  the  package  smiled  pityingly. 
I  could  see  him  thinking,  "So  young  —  so 
dressed  up  —  and  a  thief!  Too  bad." 

The  conductor  induced  George  to  disem- 
bark and  the  car  started. 

The  man  and  I  eyed  each  other  all  the 
way  up  town. 

This  evening  I  met  him  at  a  dinner.  After 
being  introduced,  I  said  "Mr.  Smith,  why 
did  that  dog  follow  you  with  so  much  anxiety 
this  morning?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  he  laughed  heartily,  my 
wife  said  to  me  at  the  breakfast  table,  'Al, 
the  high  cost  of  living  is  driving  me  frantic, 


30          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

you  must  do  something  to  help  solve  the 
problem,  and  what  I  had  done  was  to  go  to 
a  cash-down  butcher  shop  and  get  a  pound 
of  round  steak  for  a  stew  —  and  I  had  it 
with  me!" 


JOTTING  THE   FIFTH 

A  BENEFICENT  MOOD 

T  THREW  open  my  wardrobe  door  this 
•••  morning  and  said,  "There's  that  long, 
blue  ulster  of  mine.  Last  season's.  Made 
by  best  tailor.  Too  good  for  old  clothes' 
woman.  I'll  just  run  out  and  give  it  to 
some  absolutely  worthy  person." 

Brush  and  comb  in  one  hand  I  dashed 
to  the  telephone  and  called  the  garage.  I 
explained  to  the  chauffeur  that  I  would  need 
him  a  bit  earlier,  at  9.30  say,  as  I  was  giving 
away  a  coat  and  must  reach  a  meeting  of 
the  club  at  10.00,  dentist  at  11.30  and  so  on. 

John  mumbled  something  about  "Very 
good,  ma'am,"  and  I  went  on  pushing  hair- 
pins into  my  scalp 

Suddenly  it  dawned  on  me  that  in  order 
to  carry  out  my  plan  of  giving  away  a  per- 
fectly good,  warm,  well-made  ulster,  I  must 
first  find  the  person.  I  consulted  the  tele- 
si 


32          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

phone  directory.  I  called  Main  137.  A 
weary,  world-worn  voice  answered  with  the 
information  that  I  was  holding  the  attention 
of  the  So  and  So  Charitable  organization. 
Just  here  I  wondered  why  nature  had  not 
been  more  charitable  in  the  matter  of  endow- 
ing this  person  with  something  greater  than 
the  energy  of  a  shrimp. 

However,  such  speculation  aside,  I  asked 
in  a  straightforward,  American  lady  tone 
for  the  address  of  a  woman  who  might 
prove  worthy  of  a  blue,  well  cut  ulster. 

The  shrimp,  seemingly  peeved,  inquired, 
"A  what?"  I  replied  graciously,  "A  ulster." 
The  person  snapped  "A  bolster!  What  could 
we  do  with  a  bolster?" 

Then  I  explained  gently,  pacifically,  care- 
fully that  the  article  in  question  was  a  coat, 
something  to  wear  on  cold  days  and  so  forth. 

The  telephone  answered  back  "What 
name?" 

I  replied,  '  Why,  I  never  named  the  coat, 
not  customary  in  my  set.  However,  Alice 
would  do.  It's  blue." 

"I'm  very  busy  this  morning.  Kindly 
state  your  name." 


A  BENEFICENT  MOOD  33 

A  blast  of  cold  air  froze  the  tip  of  my  left 
ear. 

"My  name  is  G.  Sanborn.  I  live  at  506 
Drixel  Avenue." 

A  silence  ensued,  a  strained  uneasy  silence, 
that  finally  took  on  a  haughty  quality. 

"Sorry,  but  you  are  not  on  our  list.  If 
a  bag  of  coals  would  help  you  any,  apply 
to  the  city.  We  have  no  coats  to  give  away 
at  present." 

I  suddenly  felt  that  I  was  choking  to 
death.  I  screamed  in  a  double  forty  stac- 
cato, "Wait  —  wait  —  wait!  I  don't  want 
a  coat.  Do  you  understand?  I  have  dozens 
of  coats  —  blue  —  gray  —  brown  and  a  new 
mauve  velvet.  I  want  —  to  —  give  —  away 
-a  — coat!" 

"O — !  We  will  be  glad  to  receive  it. 
Bring  it  here  and  we'll  see  what  can  be 
done!" 

Then  I  took  a  long  breath  and  explained 
that  I  myself,  personally,  with  my  own 
hands,  wished  to  place  this  coat  on  the  back 
of  a  chilly  and  deserving  woman. 

"We  do  these  things  properly.  Bring  the 
coat  to  us." 


34          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

The  coat  suddenly  became  to  me  an  object 
of  exceeding  value.  I  determined  never  to 
let  it  leave  my  grasp  except  to  cover  some 
dreary  being  who  should  stand  shivering 
before  me.  So  I  said,  as  if  to  close  the 
argument,  "Just  give  me  the  name  of  some- 
one and  I'll  take  the  coat  to  her  at  once." 
I  heard  a  grating  noise  over  the  telephone, 
then  a  deep  feminine  voice  bellowed,  "Lady, 
we  don't  give  addresses,  we  don't  know  you, 
we  know  nothing  of  this  coat.  We  can't 
sanction  miscellaneous  giving.  We  have  our 
own  viewpoint.  We  are  busy  this  morning." 

I  smiled.  I  remembered  now  that  this 
wasn't  the  kind  of  a  place  upon  which  to 
cast  a  blue  ulster  anyway.  So,  thanking 
the  voice  kindly  for  the  attention  I  had  not 
received,  I  closed  the  conversation. 

A  few  minutes  later,  confident  and  cheer- 
ful, I  got  into  the  motor  and  informed  John 
that  this  was  the  coat  I  was  giving  away. 

John  batted  his  eye  at  it  and  said,  "Why, 
it's  your  blue  ulster,  ain't  it,  Miss?  The 
one  you  wore  last  week  to  the  skating  match. 
Somebody'll  look  grand  in  it." 

Next  I  went  to  a  city  office  and  lugged 


A  BENEFICENT  MOOD  35 

the  coat  right  in  with  me.  I  stood  in  line 
and  heard  all  about  a  woman  with  six  children 
and  a  husband  who  was  hit  in  a  saloon,  "fer 
why,  I  dunno." 

Finally  I  was  waited  upon.  I  told  my 
story.  The  man  behind  the  desk  looked 
suspicious,  then  anxious,  then  amused.  He 
called  up  the  sick  division  and  after  listening 
to  scraps  of  family  history  covering  several 
dozen  families,  at  last  he  said,  "Well,  I 
guess  we've  got  you  fixed  out  all  right. 
Gimme  the  coat." 

I  said  firmly,  "I  will  keep  it  and  take  it  to 
where  it  is  going  myself." 

He  scribbled  on  a  paper  and  handed  it  to 
me.  I  went  out  beaming  and  handed  the 
paper  to  John,  who  also  beamed,  feeling  a 
proud  flush  of  glory  at  helping  the  poor. 
John  looked  long  at  the  paper.  His  face 
assumed  a  weird  hue. 

"This  place  is  ten  miles  out,  ma'am.  The 
bridge  over  the  first  river  is  broke  down, 
you  have  to  scow  acrost  the  second  river  and 
there  ain't  no  scows  runnin'  in  winter  and 
this  address  says,  *  third  house  to  left  of  saloon' 
and  I  know  of  twelve  saloons  in  that  village." 


36          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

I  laughed.  It  was  a  good  place  to  laugh. 
I  felt  that  if  this  sort  of  thing  went  on,  I 
might  never  have  occasion  to  laugh  again. 
Then  I  shivered  thinking  how  cold  the  un- 
known woman,  who  was  waiting,  must  be 
by  this  time. 

I  flung  the  coat  into  the  motor  and  flew 
back  up  the  long  flight  of  stairs  to  the  city 
office.  It  was  locked.  The  twelve  o'clock 
whistles  were  blowing.  I  experienced  the 
bitter  sting  of  Nemesis. 

Before  luncheon,  exceeding  all  speed  limits, 
splashing  slush  and  mud  up  on  all  sides,  we 
tore  to  six  hospitals.  At  each  one  I  went 
to  the  charity  ward.  At  the  first  I  offered 
the  coat  to  a  consumptive.  She  concluded 
she  was  too  dark  looking  to  wear  blue. 
Then  I  tried  it  on  a  rosy  German  who  had 
lost  her  arm.  She  didn't  admire  the  style. 
I  begged  an  Italian  to  take  it.  She  thought 
I  was  trying  to  sell  her  something.  Not  a 
soul  could  I  wish  it  onto.  Where  were  the 
shivering  multitudes  I  had!  read  so  much 
about?  Where  was  just  one  cold  person? 

Going  down  the  steps  of  the  last  hospital, 
a  careless  painter,  who  was  trying  to  earn 


A  BENEFICENT  MOOD  3? 

an  honest  living,  by  balancing  himself  on 
one  foot  on  a  scaffolding,  spilled  a  bucket 
of  pale  green  paint  all  down  my  back. 

I  descended  in  great  trouble  to  John,  whose 
quick  wit  always  rises  nobly  in  distress.  He 
peeled  my  dripping  tweed  jacket  from  me, 
and  reaching  into  the  back  of  the  motor, 
brought  forth  my  blue  ulster  and  held  it 
in  his  own  inimitably  stylish  manner. 

Having  clapped  me  into  it  he  said,  "We've 
just  got  time  to  get  home  for  luncheon. 
You  certainly  do  look  swell  in  that  ulster, 
ma'am." 

Footsore  and  dazed,  I  murmured  something 
about  "  So  glad  to  have  brought  it  with  me." 


JOTTING  THE  SIXTH 
EFFICIENCY 

'TPHIS  afternoon  I  was  walking  along  in 
•*•  the  rain.  I  came  to  an  electrical 
supply  store.  Closing  my  umbrella  I  went 
in. 

Behind  a  mahogany  desk,  a  small  Rock  of 
Gibraltar  on  his  ring  finger,  sat  a  young  man 
named  Brite,  holding  a  book. 

"Have  you  yellow  silk  cord?"  I  inquired. 

"Yep.  Have  seat.  Clerk  back  in  a 
minute,"  answered  Brite  turning  several  pages 
of  his  book. 

After  sitting  still  for  five  minutes  I  arose 
and  approached  Brite  again. 

"Perhaps  the  clerk  you  spoke  of  has  retired 
from  business.  Will  you  summon  another, 
please?" 

"What    you    want?" 

"The  same  thing  I  wanted  when  I  came  in 
yellow  silk  cord." 

38 


EFFICIENCY  39 

Flashing  his  ring  Brite  grabbed  a  desk 
phone,  taking  care  not  to  lose  the  place  in  his 
book. 

"Lo  ello,  sensumcordown." 

I  went  back  to  my  seat  on  a  bench  near  the 
window  and  picked  up  a  catalogue.  Absorb- 
ing information  relative  to  globes,  brackets, 
volts,  discs,  shades,  bases,  bulbs,  drew  me 
on  as  far  as  page  fifty-two.  I  was  settling 
down  for  a  quiet  afternoon  of  instructive 
reading  when  the  stenographer,  who  had  been 
out  getting  an  ice  cream  soda  with  a  friend, 
returned. 

"Say,  ain't  this  a  day?  Nothin'  but  rain, 
till  your  spirit's  mildewed.  This  is  the  life! 
Soggy  outside,  groggy  inside  and  war  in  the 
newspapers.  Oh,  anybody  waiting  on  you?" 
Her  eye  rested  on  me. 

"I  hesitate  to  say,"  I  returned,  "I  aim 
for  accuracy  in  statements  I  give  out.  There 
is  no  question  as  to  the  verb — it  is  the  prepo- 
sition that  bothers." 

"Fresh  dame!"  sneered  the  steno  with  a 
jerk  that  dislodged  a  cud  of  pineapple  gum 
from  her  back  teeth  and  shook  two  invisible 
pins  out  of  her  transformation. 


40          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

A  door  opened  at  the  back  of  the  room  and 
a  grimy  man  appeared  carrying  a  bundle  of 
bright  green  cord. 

"Is  this  for  you,  ma'am?"  he  asked,  ad- 
vancing toward  me. 

"I  think  not,  unless  time  produces  a  chemi- 
cal change  on  yellow.  Do  you  know  whether 
old  age  affects  certain  colors?" 

"Been  waiting  as  long  as  that?"  The 
grimy  one's  smile  was  sympathetic. 

"Never  mind  going  after  more,  I'll  take 
this,"  said  I.  "Will  you  kindly  attach  a 
plug?"  I  continued,  advancing  briskly  on 
Brite. 

Brite  laid  down  his  book,  rummaged  in  his 
desk  and  finally  attempted  a  mule  power 
screw  with  a  flea  power  pocket  knife.  The 
grimy  person  appeared  again  bringing  a  roll 
of  yellow  cord  and  took  the  plug  from  Brite. 
I  stepped  over  and  glanced  at  the  book  Brite 
had  been  reading.  It  was  a  work  on  efficiency. 

"Do  you  enjoy  that  book?"  I  asked  with 
a  queer  note  in  my  voice. 

"Yep,  but  hanged  if  I  can  see  how  to  apply 
it.  Know  anything  about  the  book?  How 
can  a  fellow  incorporate  it  into  his  system?" 


EFFICIENCY  41 

"As  to  your  first  question,  yes,"  I  replied 
dreamily.  "I  know  a  little  about  the  book. 
I  wrote  it.  As  to  the  second  —  if  you  will 
take  it  home,  have  your  mother  grind  it  three 
times  in  a  meat  chopper,  add  a  little  flour, 
pinch  of  salt,  fry  in  deep  fat  and  eat  while 
hot,  I  think  you  can  incorporate  a  little  of  it 
into  your  system.  That  is  the  only  way  I 
can  think  of  at  this  time.  Good  afternoon." 


JOTTING   THE    SEVENTH 

EXPENSIVE  GARDENING 

TJELEN,  Avis  and  I  sat  in  the  conserva- 
^"^  tory.  We  talked  about  the  way  our 
new  gowns  were  to  be  made  and  then  we 
discussed  the  war. 

"Of  course,  we  must  do  our  bit,"  Avis 
impressed  upon  Helen.  Father  looked  up 
from  his  stock  report. 

"I  shall  be  a  street  car  conductor,"  Helen 
shouted  with  glee,  "I'll  wear  yards  of  braid 
and  cards  of  buttons  and  slam  doors  and 
order  people  about  and  I'll  give  all  the 
salary  I  earn  to  the  poor." 

"Oh,  no,  that  wouldn't  be  ladylike.  Let's 
farm.  May  we,  father?  May  we  use  the 
lawn?" 

"Why,  of  course,  my  dears.  Get  what 
you  need  and  go  ahead." 

"Just  think,  father,"  beamed  Avis,  "we 
can  raise  enough  vegetables  to  supply  us 

42 


EXPENSIVE  GARDENING         43 

all  summer,  and  maybe  put  some  up  for  next 
winter,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  could 
supply  Uncle  Henry's  family,  too,  besides 
giving  a  great  deal  away." 

"And  it  won't  cost  you  a  cent  to  feed  us, 
father,"  supplemented  Helen,  "so  that  most 
of  the  money  you  get  you  can  devote  to  some 
noble  cause." 

They  hired  two  men  at  35  cents  an  hour, 
who  proceeded  to  demolish  three  flower  beds 
and  hack  up  a  $100  stretch  of  sod.  They 
bought  $3.00  worth  of  magazines  and  spent 
hours  and  hours  clipping  seed  advertisements 
from  the  pages.  It  cost  them  #1.00  for 
stamps  to  get  catalogues.  They  bought  four 
loads  of  soil,  at  $6.00  a  load,  and  three  bags 
of  fertilizer,  at  $3.75  a  bag.  Again  two  men 
were  hired  at  35  cents  an  hour  to  apply  same 
to  earth's  surface.  Never  having  applied 
anything  to  anything  before  they  made  mis- 
takes, so  two  other  men  had  to  be  hired  the 
following  day  to  undo  the  work  of  the  first 
two. 

The  girls  talked  incessantly  of  loam  and 
subsoil.  Gleason,  the  chauffeur,  was  pressed 
into  service  and  conveyed  the  girls,  and  two 


44          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

wash  tubs,  down  to  the  beach,  where  sand 
was  collected  which  was  to  be  sprinkled  in 
with  the  loam  to  obtain  better  drainage. 

Unwittingly,  two  dead  fish  were  collected 
along  with  the  sand  and  somehow  they 
worked  themselves  onto  the  side  of  one  of  the 
tubs,  from  whence  they  imparted  a  search- 
ing aroma  to  the  gray  covered  seats  in  the 
limousine.  It  cost  father  $50.00  to  have 
the  cushions  brought  back  to  their  original 
state  of  unobtrusiveness.  An  afternoon  was 
spent  at  a  hardware  store  buying  implements. 
Avis  asked  the  clerk  to  pick  out  only  the 
pretty  red  things  and  to  have  their  mono- 
grams marked  on  all  the  handles. 

"Say,  our  guy's  got  a  load  on  the  wagon 
a'ready  for  out  that  way,"  the  clerk  told  the 
boss,  so  the  girls'  order  was  delivered  in  an 
extra  wagon. 

Digging  and  planting  in  skirts  was  out  of 
the  question.  The  girls  sought  the  tailor. 
He  said  of  course  he  could  fashion  two  charm- 
ing pairs  of  trousers  from  the  newest  spring 
weaves  and  hadn't  the  young  ladies  better 
have  coats  to  match,  as  he  understood  the 
best  gardening  was  done  in  the  cool  of  the 


EXPENSIVE  GARDENING         45 

early  morning  and  in  the  chill  of  twilight, 
and  the  dear  young  ladies  would  be  of  much 
greater  benefit  to  their  country  if  they 
avoided  pneumonia.  The  suits  were  $65.00 
each. 

Anticipating  interrupted  hours  of  bright 
daylight  and  crops  of  freckles  the  girls  bought 
two  large  jars  of  Madam  Haha's  bleaching 
cream,  at  $5.50  a  jar.  Avis  arranged  for  a 
$25.00  course  of  massage  to  straighten  out 
the  kinks  in  her  muscles,  and  Helen's  bill 
at  the  department  store  waxed  treble  its 
usual  amount  by  reason  of  gardening  hats, 
blouses,  veils,  gloves,  mats  to  kneel  on  and 
so  forth. 

What?  Oh,  yes,  they  planted  several  rows 
of  seeds,  my  dear,  and  then  went  to  bed  for  a 
week  to  recover  from  shock,  induced  by  a 
heavy  mail  of  bills,  colds  in  the  head,  and 
stiff  backs. 

"Fm  glad  father  is  a  smart  man  and  knows 
how  to  get  money,"  sighed  Avis.  "Perhaps 
it  would  be  best  to  let  him  get  the  vegetables 
in  the  usual  way.  I  guess  we  won't  try  to 
help  the  country  any  more  by  farming. 
Economizing  is  too  expensive." 


JOTTING   THE    EIGHTH 

FROM  BUN  TO  BUN 

T  MET  a  man  to-day.  A  thinnish,  baldish, 
•*•  richish  man.  He  told  me  his  life's  history 
in  thirty  minutes.  It  was  a  gastronomic 
equation. 

One  day  in  the  year  1910,  he  looked  up  and 
down  Wall  Street.  His  pockets  harbored 
an  old  steel-handled  penknife,  a  check  book 
without  a  balance  and  10  cents.  His  stomach 
harbored  nothing.  All  about  him  men  were 
hurrying  along  to  lunch,  cash  in  their  pockets. 
He  followed  from  force  of  habit. 

He  entered  an  eat  shop.  He  snatched  a 
menu  card  from  between  the  tabasco  and  the 
sugar  bowl  and  read  it  feverishly. 

"What'll  it  be,  sir?"  prompted  the  waiter, 
"little  lamb,  p'rhaps;  very  fine,  sir;  with 
peas,  sir." 

"No,  don't  care  for  the  flavor  of  lamb. 
(Oh,  for  one  chew,  but  it's  marked  80  cents.) " 


FROM  BUN  TO  BUN  47 

"Well,  the  ragout  is  special  to-day,  sir,  and 
includes  mashed  potatoes,  beets  buttered  — " 

"Stop!  Who  is  it  says  meat  makes  us 
barbarians,  brings  crime,  war,  pestilence? 
(There  is  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  a  T  bone!)" 

"Maybe  you'll  favor  the  egg  dishes  then. 
There's  herb  omelet,  or  a  little  souffle.  The 
fish  is  good  also  to-day,  sir,  and  the  sauce  a 
delight." 

"See  here,  waiter,  I  am  not  going  to  insult 
my  esophagus  with  messes.  I  came  in  here 
to  eat  to  sustain  life,  that's  all.  This  frilly 
stuff  doesn't  appeal.  You  may  bring  me  —  a 
bran  bun  (at  last,  Bran  Bun,  #.io;  thank 
heaven  there's  a  price  on  this  card  I  can  nego- 
tiate—  but  food,  food,  how  I  want  you!)" 

While  the  bran  bun  was  going  down  and 
the  waiter's  nose  was  going  up,  the  stranded 
broker  was  thinking.  And  right  there,  in 
that  restaurant,  goaded  on  by  the  aroma  of 
forbidden  viands,  a  wonderful  scheme  was 
born  in  his  brain. 

He  went  back  to  the  Street,  borrowed  a 
ladder  and  proceeded  to  climb  up  the  Wall. 
It  took  him  six  years  going  up,  and  that 
brings  it  to  the  year  1917. 


48          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

He  looked  down  at  the  Street  from  his 
mahogany  chair,  while  his  $10.00  shod  feet 
rested  upon  a  rich  oriental  rug,  its  crimsons 
and  golds  blended  to  the  tune  of  #1,000. 
His  private  secretary  had  gone  out  to  lunch. 
The  fellow  was,  no  doubt,  actually  eating. 

Well,  he  had  eaten  too!  That  one  year 
when  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  all 
the  real  chefs  on  this  side  and  the  other  — 
that  was  the  year!  He  had  wined  and 
dined  —  and  called  on  his  doctor.  And  the 
old  rascal  had  told  him,  "too  much  food, 
man.  Eat  less.  Perhaps  you  can  keep  on 
spending  and  living,  but  you  can  never  keep 
on  at  this  eating." 

Then  he  had  laughed,  left  the  doctor  and 
ordered  six  courses.  The  next  year  he  laughed 
and  continued  to  order.  Then  he  just  grinned. 
Then  he  smiled.  Then  he  quit  eating. 

Heigh-ho,  everybody  was  hurrying  off  to 
lunch.  He  adjusted  his  hat  and  stepped 
round  to  the  club. 

"What'll  it  be,  sir?"  prompted  the  waiter, 
"little  lamb,  p'raps;  very  fine,  sir,  with  peas, 
sir." 

"No,  don't  care  for  the  flavor  of  lamb. 


FROM  BUN  TO  BUN  49 

(I  could  eat  wool!  Plague  take  this 
dyspepsia)." 

"The  ragout  is  special  to-day,  sir;  includes 
mashed  potatoes,  beets  buttered  — " 

"Stop!     I'll  read  it  myself." 

"Yes,  sir;  certainly,  sir.  (Queer  old  bird. 
I  wonder  is  he  stingy  or  what.) " 

"See  here,  waiter,  I  am  not  going  to  insult 
my  esophagus  with  messes.  I  came  in  here 
to  obtain  a  little  something  to  sustain  life. 
You  may  bring  me  —  ah  —  well,  say  a  bun 
made  of  bran." 


JOTTING   THE    NINTH 

THE  MONEY  KING 

"TTADSOM  RISE,  the  multi-millionaire, 
•^"^  is  in  the  hospital  with  a  sprained  ankle. 
Can't  dodge  us.  Get  a  story  quick,"  warbled 
the  city  editor;  "get  him  going  on  stocks 
and  bonds.  Find  out  how  he  earned  his 
first  $  and  how  he  $pent  the  la$t  one.  Bring 
back  an  interview  bristling  with  $$>$  and 
$en£e  —  and  be  quick!" 

I  leaped  for  the  hospital  with  a  confused 
sense  of  setting  out  to  hit  a  man  when  he 
was  down.  A  coldly  critical  being  met  me 
at  the  door.  All  life  being  reduced  to  a 
science  for  her,  she  neglected  to  admire  my 
new  fall  hat  or  perceive  my  baby  wonder 
wrist  watch,  but  perceived  instead  that  I 
was  10  pounds  overweight. 

"Try  cutting  down  on  beans,  corn  and 
cake,"  she  said,  "live  on  lettuce,  radishes, 
dry  toast  and  so  forth." 

50 


THE  MONEY  KING  51 

Doubtless  it  was  purely  a  humanitarian 
impulse  that  prompted  her  to  lead  me  up 
and  down  corridors  for  fifteen  minutes. 
Maybe,  while  I  was  still  fresh  from  the  dear 
meal  eating  outside,  she  was  taking  an  initial 
whack  at  a  new  theory  that  involved  miles 
of  white  tile,  one  stout  person  and  imperti- 
nent verbal  suggestions. 

After  the  first  quarter  mile  she  dropped  into 
a  monotonous  trot,  a  pace  or  two  ahead,  so 
I  got  out  a  bar  of  chocolate  and  nibbled  on 
it  and  brushed  up  on  my  nine  times  nine 
preparatory  to  a  prize  interview  with  the 
great  financial  king. 

"Well,  my  sore  ankle  is  the  reporter's 
opportunity.  You  get  me  cornered  at  last," 
grinned  Rise;  "come  on  with  your  ques- 
tion." 

This  was  luck!  I  could  ask  anything  I 
chose  and  get  an  answer. 

"I'd  like  to  know  the  real  inside  facts 
about  that  deal  in  — " 

Something  smote  my  foot.  "Just  step 
out  the  way,  please,  lady.  I  got  to  wash 
the  floor." 

I  gave  way  to  calico  clad  authority  and  a 
dripping  rag. 


52          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Do  you  think  Wall  Street  will  be 
affected  - 

"You  maybe  will  take  this  chair,  please, 
lady,"  interrupted  the  scrubwoman. 

She  set  a  chair  for  me  on  the  far  side  of 
the  room  and  proceeded  to  install  herself, 
her  rags,  her  rattly  tin  pail  and  her  ss-zz-ss- 
zezing  scrubbing  brush  between  me  and  the 
millionaire. 

It  was  rather  hard  to  shout  leading  ques- 
tions under  the  circumstances.  Rise  bridged 
the  interval  by  telling  me  how  much  his  foot 
hurt  and  what  kind  of  salve  the  doctor  was 
using.  The  scrubwoman  went  round  and 
round,  slopping  water,  banging  chairs,  mov- 
ing tables  and  driving  me  before  her  like  an 
uncertain  leaf  in  a  flood.  The  conversation 
became  trivial.  It  ceased.  The  scrub- 
woman transcended  her  rightful  sphere  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  rise  from  the  floor  and 
rattle  bottles  about  on  a  glass  table.  Then 
a  young  nurse  bustled  in. 

"It's  time  for  your  eleven  o'clock  nourish- 
ment," she  said,  smiling  at  Rise. 

"Good-bye,"  said  he  to  me. 

My   notebook   was   empty.     Back   at    the 


THE  MONEY  KING  53 

office  they  were  saving  space  for  me  and  lots 
of  it.  The  scrubwoman  opened  the  door 
of  the  money  king's  room,  came  out  and 
waddled  toward  me  down  the  hall. 

"See  here,  why  did  you  have  to  scrub  that 
floor  when  I  was  calling  on  that  gentleman? 
Don't  you  know  better  than  to  interrupt 
conversation?  I  shall  report  you." 

"So  — o — .  They  treat  the  gentleman's 
feet,  but  I  tink  the  trouble  iss  in  t'head. 
I  worked  five  years  in  dis  place  and  never 
see  a  bug  but  dis  gentleman  he  say  to  me, 
'Mrs.  Blumenthal,  dere  is  one  kind  of  bugs 
I  don't  have  no  use  for.  They  call  'em 
interviewers.  Now,  if  I  see  any  comin'  I'll 
ring  the  bell  and  you  come  in  and  scrub 
everything  in  the  room.'  Yah,  huh,  I  was 
scrubbing  in  there  five  times  already  this 
morning  and  he  gives  me,  every  time,  a 
dollar!" 


JOTTING  THE   TENTH 

LINE'S  BUSY 

A  SMALL,  roily-poly  typist,  brimful  of 
•^^  cheer  had  lured  me  into  a  busy  office. 
I  was  leaning  over  a  corner  of  her  desk, 
conversing  on  her  employer's  time,  when 
masculine  voices  smote  my  eager  tympanum. 

"Will  you  kindly  pay"  this  little  bill,  sir?" 
cooed  an  apologetic  young  man  who  had  been 
sent  to  the  broker's  office  by  the  Wewashum 
Laundry  Co. 

"What  bill?  How  much?"  snapped  the 
broker. 

"Eighteen  cents.  Past  due  four  months. 
Two  collars  and  one  shirt  laundered." 

"I  have  no  recollection  of  receiving  any 
package  from  your  company."  Reaching  for 
the  telephone  receiver  he  called  the  laundry. 
"Now  about  that  shirt.  What?  Oh!  Silk? 
Of  course  I  remember  my  own  shirt!  No, 
I  never  received  it." 

54 


LINE'S  BUSY  55 

He  replaced  the  telephone  and  glared  at 
the  bill  collector. 

"Eighteen  cents,  sir.  A  small  matter, 
but  - 

"Small  matter,"  roared  the  broker,  "I 
do  not  call  a  green  and  gray  striped  silk  shirt, 
with  black  dots,  price  $15,  a  small  matter. 
Now  you  go  back  to  your  company  and  tell 
them  that  unless  they  produce  that  shirt, 
before  five  o'clock  to-night,  I'll  sue  'em.  It's 
an  outrage!  What's  this  country  coming 
to?  We  have  to  pay  ten  prices  for  clothes 
and  then  pay  somebody  to  tear  'em,  lose  'em, 
steal  'em.  Talk  about  graft  and  gains !  Now, 
I  can't  run  other  people's  business,  but  I 
can  run  my  own  and  I'm  going  to  begin  on 
your  laundry  and  my  shirt.  Understand? 
Going  to  make  an  example  of  'em.  Gimme 
the  district  attorney's  number,  Miss  An- 
drews. Tell  George  to  get  a  detective  agency 
on  the  wire." 

During  the  next  four  hours  all  three  of 
the  office  'phones  were  busy  with  the  affair 
of  the  shirt.  The  broker  called  up  the  fol- 
lowing persons  and  places: 

The  District  Attorney. 


56          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

The  Chief  of  Police. 

Judge  of  the  Police  Court. 

Laundry  Company  (5  times). 

Four  Friends. 

Driver  of  the  Laundry  Wagon. 

Detective  Agency  (6  times). 

Another  Detective  Agency. 

Natatorium  (to  be  sure  shirt  was  not  in  the 
locker). 

Gymnasium  (same  reason). 

Hotel  (to  cancel  luncheon  engagement). 

Business  went  to  the  dogs,  nobody  on  the 
outside  could  reach  the  broker  or  his  clerks 
on  the  inside,  and  the  wires  buzzed  and 
hummed.  Buyers  were  inconvenienced  while 
the  broker  continued  to  call  numbers  in  his 
frenzied  search  for  his  shirt. 

Three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  saw  a  motley 
collection  of  visitors  grouped  about  the  office. 
There  was  the  owner  of  the  laundry,  a  lawyer, 
two  detectives,  and  the  driver,  and  in  the 
center  the  broker  strode  back  and  forth, 
red-faced  and  vociferous. 

Then  the  door  from  the  hall  was  pushed 
gently  open  and  a  sweet-faced  little  woman 
appeared. 


LINE'S  BUSY  57 

"I've  been  so  worried  all  day  about  you, 
Henry.  The  telephone  company  kept  telling 
me  the  line  was  busy,  and  I  felt  sure  something 
was  wrong." 

"Everything's  wrong.  Somebody's  stolen 
my  property.  Remember  that  lovely  gray 
silk  shirt  I  had  —  green  stripes  —  black 
dots?" 

"Why,   yes,   dear;  perfectly." 

"Gone!"  cried  the  broker,  hollow-eyed. 
"We're  combing  the  city  with  a  fine-tooth 
comb.  I  shall  spare  no  expense.  Matter 
of  principle.  Owe  it  to  my  fellow-citizens. 
Must  have  protection.  Nobody  can  wear 
my  shirts  to  cheap  balls  and  go  unpunished." 

"Gray  and  green,"  murmured  the  wife, 

"black  dots "  She  walked  swiftly  toward 

her  husband.  She  tugged  at  the  top  button 
of  his  vest  in  that  officious  way  wives  have. 
She  fished  under  his  cravat.  She  looked  up. 

"You  have  it  on,  dear,"  she  said. 


JOTTING   THE    ELEVENTH 

NO  EXCUSE 

MR.  AND  MRS.  BEN  DYER  were  in 
the  midst  of  that  momentous  under- 
taking called  "building."  Ben  Dyer,  you 
see,  had  taken  a  flyer  in  wheat  and  the  con- 
sequent bulging  of  spirit  and  purse  were 
causing  many  excrescences  to  bloom  in  the 
daily  life  of  the  pair. 

The  carpenters  had  put  the  opaque  panes 
of  glass,  that  should  have  gone  into  the  bath- 
room, into  the  butler's  pantry,  had  contrived 
to  wedge  every  window  so  it  wouldn't  open, 
and  coming  back  after  forgotten  tools  had 
walked  all  over  the  fresh  varnish  on  the 
floors,  so  everything  might  be  said  to  be 
progressing  as  usual  in  such  cases.  The 
plumbers  had  also  finished  and  it  was  the 
duty  of  Ben  to  go  over  to  the  new  dwelling 
each  night  and  shake  the  furnace. 

He  departed  Saturday  night  as  usual,  at 

58 


NO  EXCUSE  59 

seven  o'clock.  He  had  not  returned  at  nine. 
Nor  at  nine-thirty.  Nor  at  ten.  Nor  at  ten- 
fifteen.  At  ten- twenty  Mrs.  Dyer  called  up 
the  police.  A  voice  boomed  back  at  her  over 
the  wire. 

"This  is  802  Hogarth  Avenue  speaking," 
gasped  Mrs.  Dyer;  "my  husband  is  lost!" 

"How  many  days  ago  did  he  disappear, 
madam?" 

"Why  —  why  —  he  didn't  disappear,  ex- 
actly, that  is  he  opened  the  front  door  to-night 
right  after  supper  and  went  down  the  steps 
swinging  his  cane  as  usual." 

"Well,  now  don't  be  alarmed,  lady.  It's 
early.  He  probably  went  to  a  club  meeting." 

"No,  my  husband  doesn't  have  time  for 
meetings.  He  has  a  great  deal  on  his  mind 
at  present.  He  is  a  man  of  affairs  and  may 
have  enemies.  Oh!"  shrilled  Mrs.  Dyer, 
"I  wish  you  would  send  somebody  out  to  look 
for  him.  What?  How  dare  you  say  such  a 
thing!  He's  not  that  kind  of  a  man  at  all. 
Why,  we  don't  even  play  bridge.  I  —  hello 
—  hello.  Oh,  horrid  thing,  he's  gone  too." 

At  eleven-thirty  Mrs.  Dyer  called  the 
police  station  for  the  sixth  time. 


60          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"It  is  all  because  of  his  terrible  greed  for 
money  —  I  know  it  is!"  she  wailed;  "he's 
been  speculating  heavily  just  so  we  could 
build  a  house  better  than  any  of  our  friends 
have,  and  now  somebody  has  gone  and 
strangled  him." 

At  midnight  Mrs.  Dyer  wrapped  up  the 
baby,  woke  up  the  servant  and  demanded 
that  the  cold-blooded  person  at  headquarters 
send  up  the  patrol. 

"We'd  better  go  to  the  new  house  first," 
she  sobbed,  as  she  and  the  maid  clambered 
into  the  wagon  and  a  fat  policeman  reached 
for  the  baby.  "Perhaps  there's  a  clue  over 
there.  He  goes  there  for  a  few  minutes 
every  night  to  attend  to  the  furnace." 

There  was  a  clue  there.  The  cellar  windows 
were  a  blaze  of  light  and  a  frenzied  clatter 
and  bang  issued  into  the  night. 

"That  ain't  no  murder,"  muttered  the 
biggest  policeman,  "it's  too  thundering  noisy." 

Mr.  Dyer,  collarless,  coatless,  a  black 
smudge  running  from  eyebrow  to  lip,  looked 
up  to  confront  six  grinning  policemen,  a  tear- 
stained  wife,  an  open-mouthed  servant  and 
his  sleeping  infant,  its  cap  on  hind  side  before. 


NO  EXCUSE  61 

"Goodness,  Mary!" 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Ben  Dyer,  you've 
scared  me  to  death.  If  you  weren't  a  horrid 
broker  and  didn't  make  so  much  money,  we 
wouldn't  have  to  spend  it,  and  you  could 
stay  home  at  night  and  not  go  out  and  get 
strangled." 

"Why,  Mary,  now  let  me  explain.  A  big 
pipe  had  burst.  I've  been  all  the  evening 
mending  it." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  order  good  pipes 
put  in  in  the  first  place.  It  seems  to  me 
while  you  are  making  money  you  might  as 
well  make  enough  to  pay  for  the  best  brand 
of  everything.  That's  no  excuse!" 


JOTTING  THE   TWELFTH 

MONDAY  MORNING  MOPES 

Fwas  Monday  morning.  I  opened  the 
doctor's  office  door  and  peered  in  cau- 
tiously. The  advent  of  my  inquiring  eye 
in  the  aperature  was  met  with  a  roar  from 
the  doctor. 

"No,  I  don't  want  a  ticket  for  some  per- 
fectly worthless  production,  nor  a  quart  of 
the  latest  dope,  nor  a  chance  on  a  set  of 
doilies,  and  I  won't  buy  a  box  of  matches, 
or  books  on  Darkest  Africa,  and  a  brick  of 
codfish  is  out  of  the  question." 

"There,  there,  Doc,"  I  said  soothingly  as 
I  advanced  into  the  office.  "I  just  called 
around  to  get  your  views  on  the  charity 
wo " 

"Charity!"  yelled  the  doctor.  "Don't 
utter  it.  I  have  spent  most  of  my  life  doing 
charity  work,  up  night  and  day,  summer 
and  winter.  I  am  smothered  with  orphan 

62 


MONDAY  MORNING  MOPES      63 

asylums,  clinics  and  free  hospitals  and  my 
automobile  is  a  wreck  from  speeding  to  help 
the  poor.  And  on  top  of  all  this  a  perfectly 
sane  looking  woman  sat  here  this  morning 
and  begged  me  to  give  her  twenty  dollars 
for  a  drinking  fountain.  Said  I  never  did 
anything  for  charity  Don't  speak!  Pm 
through  with  the  whole  business.  No  more 
for  me.  You  may  put  me  down  as  totally 
unapproachable,  strike  me  off  the  list." 

Just  here  the  telephone  chipped  in. 

"Well,  well,  hello!"  called  the  doctor 
stormily.  "Over  on  Archer  Avenue  you  say? 
Parents  killed  ?"  His  voice  grew  soft.  "Poor 
little  mites.  I'll  be  right  over.  Take  'em 
home  with  me  till  things  are  fixed  up.  What's 
that?  That  fellow  out  of  a  job  that  I  looked 
over  last  week  ?  Well,  tell  him  to  come  along 
back  if  he's  having  trouble,  it  won't  cost 
him  a  cent." 

A  supercilious  smile  flitted  across  my  face. 
"Thought  you  said  "  I  began. 

"I  said,  young  woman,"  the  doctor  replied, 
"that  it  is  a  blessed  privilege  to  help  one's 
fellow  beings.  Going  toward  town  ?  I'll  take 
you  down." 


JOTTING   THE   THIRTEENTH 

MUSIC  IN  THE  PARK 

T  WENT  to  an  open  air  concert  to-night. 
•*•  The  open  air  part  was  a  great  success. 
It  was  just  as  advertised.  There  was  plenty 
of  it  and  it  was  distributed  with  equal  fair- 
ness to  all.  B  row  was  as  advantageous  as 
G,  and  nobody  in  Z  could  say  that  he  missed 
one  note  of  the  whistling  wind  as  it  whistled 
along  at  forty  miles  an  hour.  It  was  as  easy 
to  eat  peanuts  in  one  seat  as  another  and 
let  the  open  air  waft  the  shells  all  over  the 
place. 

I  strolled  around  and  selected  a  bench 
near  the  bandstand,  but  instead  of  hearing 
the  music  this  is  what  I  heard.  First,  an 
adagio  movement  by  the  police.  A  faint 
chirping  was  audible,  like  sparrows  at 
dawn,  which  waxed  louder,  fuller,  cul- 
minating in  an  insistent  trill  as  traffic  grew 
thicker. 

64 


MUSIC  IN  THE  PARK  65 

Then  came  an  allegro  passage.  A  throaty 
blast  smote  the  evening  calm. 

A  series  of  staccato  honks,  commencing 
in  a  flute-like  pianissimo,  ascended  in  a 
marvelously  executed  crescendo,  that  burst 
into  a  rich  volume  of  tone  as  the  charge  of 
the  white  piqued  was  carried  forward  in  the 
latest  1918*8. 

This  was  taken  up  by  pedestrians,  the 
theme  being  repeated  in  a  succession  of 
shuffling  sounds,  sizes  4,  5  and  3,  buttoned, 
being  taken  up  by  the  laces,  7,  8  and  10,  and 
carried  to  a  deafening  climax. 

Following  this  came  a  sextet  of  particular 
brilliancy. 

"Caught  a  pickerel  —  six  pounds." 

"No,  I  never  put  onions  in  lamb  stew." 

"Say,  Mame,  ain't  the  mosquitoes  fierce 
in  this  park?" 

"And  have  $25,000  when  I'm  45." 

"Hello,  girlie,  like  a  little  expert  aid  holding 
down  this  bench?" 

"Gee,  I  call  him  a  simp!" 

After  this  arose  a  minor  solo. 

"Ma,  ain't  there  a  ham  sandwich  left?" 

"No,  t'here  ain't.  You've  et  enough  anny- 
how." 


66          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Ma,  kin  I  get  a  ice  cream  cone?" 
"No,  leave  off  teasing  me  now  and  listen 
to  the  music." 

"I  don't  hear  no  music,  ma.     Where  is  it?" 


JOTTING   THE    FOURTEENTH 

OUT  OF  AN  OUTING 

A  YOUNG  physician  settled  himself  in 
^^  his  chair,  next  to  mine,  at  the  theatre. 
"Great  to  have  a  night  off,"  said  he  to  me. 

The  orchestra  played  a  dreamy  Hawaiian 
chant  and  just  as  the  doctor  drifted  off  into 
a  far  country  where  insistent  telephone  rings 
were  blended  into  songs  of  happy  birds,  a 
man  stepped  out  toward  the  footlights. 

A  portentous  silence  ensued. 

With  an  apologetic  expression  he  announced 
that  Dr.  So  and  So  was  wanted  at  the  box 
office.  It  was  Dr.  So  and  So  who  sat  next 
to  me. 

He  was  a  very  young  doctor  and  on  his 
way  up  the  aisle  his  sense  of  duty  to  all 
mankind  hurried  him  along. 

"Man  left  this  name  and  said  there  had 
been  a  terrible  accident.  Wanted  you  to 
hurry  right  out,"  said  the  ticket  seller. 

67 


68          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Way  out  in  the  suburbs,  too,"  murmured 
the  doctor  as  he  bounded  off.  Arriving  at 
the  given  number  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
man  who  was  shaking  with  excitement. 

"Where  is  the  man  that  sent  for  the  doc- 
tor? " 

"Im,"  replied  the  man.  "I  got  a  trouble, 
doctor.  You  took  care  from  my  friend  once 
so  I  send  for  you.  Lizzie,  my  wife,  she 
complains  always  I  don't  take  her  nowheres. 
Such  a  woman  for  talk  she  is!  Well,  to-day 
I  can't  stand  it  no  longer  so  I  sez  'Lizzie,  I 
meet  you  down  town  to-night  and  we  go 
to  a  dairy  lunch  and  I  buy  you  some  pork  and 
beans  you  didn't  cook  in  your  own  kitchen, 
ain't?'  Well,  six  o'clock  comes  and  I  forget 
to  go  to  meet  Lizzie.  I  get  home  and  there 
ain't  no  Lizzie.  So  I  remember  Lizzie  she 
gets  awful  mad  when  she's  got  to  wait  and 
I  drive  like  somebody,  I  got  a  new  four 
passenger,  and  what  you  s'pose,  Doc?  I 
get  arrested!  There's  Lizzie  waiting  for  the 
beans  and  me  on  the  way  to  the  station! 
I  told  the  cop  I  was  hurrying  on  account  of 
my  wife  was  sick.  He  says,  'Who's  your 
doctor?'  and  I  sez  you  are. 


OUT  OF  AN  OUTING  69 

"Now,  Doc,  it's  going  to  cost  me  $25  if  you 

don't  help  me  out." 

"Have  you  taken  your  wife  out  to  dinner 

this  year?" 
"No,  I  ain't." 

"Did  you  take  her  out  last  year?" 
"No,  she  cooks  pretty  good  herself." 
"Well,  you  go  down  and  pay  your  $25  and 

consider  it's  what  you  ought  to  have  spent 

on  Lizzie.     Good-night." 


JOTTING   THE    FIFTEENTH 
MOVIES 

,  dearie,"  a  voice  sang  over  my 
telephone,  "my  club  is  taking  up  the 
question  of  movies  and  their  effect  on  children. 
We  want  some  of  the  houses  to  put  on  special 
Friday  and  Saturday  programs.  Would  you 
mind  stepping  around  to  a  few  of  the  mana- 
ger's offices  to  get  their  opinions. 

"Glad  to,"  returned  I. 

Stepping  around  to  a  few  offices  —  I  was 
glad  she  hadn't  asked  me  to  step  down  to 
Atlanta,  Ga.,  or  ring  up  somebody  in  London 
or  fit  a  pair  of  shoes  on  a  ten-year-old  boy 
in  Mars. 

But,  pshaw,  one  thinks  of  dismal  things 
so  easily.  The  well  poised  mind  dwells  only 
on  the  bright  side.  I  approached  the  bright 
side  of  a  picture  house.  After  proving  that 
I  didn't  want  a  job  chopping  tickets,  or 
washing  tile  and  positively  had  nothing 

70 


MOVIES  71 

to  sell  I  was  let  up  and  sat  down  in  an  outer 
office. 

I  heard  a  shrill  short  order  voice  and  glasses 
clinking.  I  saw  clouds  of  cigarette  smoke 
drifting  about.  The  manager  came  out. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said  to  me  —  and 
to  himself  —  "what  in  time  did  she  bust  in 
here  for?"  And  then  aloud,  "Sorry,  can't 
talk  this  morning.  Pm  a  sick  man.  Doctor 
has  ordered  me  to  inhale  deeply  and  exercise 
my  arms.  Come  around  again  in  three  or 
four  weeks." 

"Right,"  said  I,  and  at  parting,  "keep  it 
up,  you'll  find  it  awfully  strengthening." 

"What's  that?"  asked  the  manager. 

"Cigarette  smoke,"  I  called  from  the  stair- 
way. 

"They  are  throwing  some  horrible  things 
on  the  screen  at  your  theatre  to-day,"  I 
blurted  out  at  the  next  stop  to  the  society 
matron  manageress,  "and  the  seats  are  two- 
thirds  full  of  children.  The  club  women 
of  the  United  States  are  taking  up  the  ques- 
tion of  murder,  suicide  and  robbery  views. 
These  things  are  not  fit  for  the  eyes  of 
children." 


72          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Nonsense!  You  are  taking  a  simple 
matter  too  seriously.  These  things  broaden 
our  little  folks.  Excuse  me  a  moment." 
She  disappeared  to  answer  the  telephone. 

In  the  interval  I  coaxed  golden  curled  baby 
Margaret  onto  my  knee.  We  talked  about 
birds,  and  kewpies  and  brown  puppy  dogs. 

"What  did  you  and  baby  find  to  talk  about 
while  I  was  gone?"  beamed  the  manageress 
a  few  minutes  later. 

"I  told  her  about  the  Remey  divorce 
scandal.  That  lurid  one,  you  know  —  the 
butler  shot  his  mistress  and  the  valet  poisoned 
himself—" 

"You  wicked  woman  — "  screamed  the 
horrified  manageress. 

"I  thought  it  might  be  broadening,"  I  mur- 
mured as  I  melted  away  into  the  outer  air. 

At  the  next  stop  I  learned  that  the  manager 
was  out  getting  a  shave,  so  I  squeezed  my 
way  into  a  dim  interior  and  rested  a  tired 
Psyche  knot  on  a  convenient  pillar.  I  won- 
dered why  managers  send  wizened  boys 
cityward  to  buy  case  after  case  of  half-clad 
vampires  when  their  audiences  are  composed 
of  high  school  students. 


MOVIES  73 

Why  they  show  thieves,  immoral  persons  of 
all  varieties,  five-minute  kisses  and  gambling 
dens  when  their  audiences  are  full  of  children. 

Why  they  insist  upon  our  watching,  con- 
niving, assisting  at  the  murders  of  young 
women,  old  men,  bank  cashiers,  rich  widows 
and  hermits. 

I  prefer  to  read  my  murders  in  the 
newspapers  where  they  are  delicately  and 
artistically  surrounded  by  recipes  for  dough- 
nuts, without  dough,  and  corn  cures  illustrated 
in  home-like  fashion,  presenting  persons  with 
no  apparel  below  the  knee  cap  distorting 
themselves  in  foot  tubs. 

If  the  murder  is  not  to  my  taste  I  can 
turn  to  the  "houses  for  sale"  column  and  get 
my  mind  off  the  thing  by  speculating  as  to 
what  might  have  happened  had  the  murdered 
man  taken  a  course  in  engineering,  thereby 
raising  his  earning  capacity  from  #100  a 
month  to  $3,000.  This  would  have  enabled 
him  to  buy  his  wife  the  charming  house  with 
three  porches,  garage  and  flower  beds,  and 
totally  eliminated  discouragement,  pecking 
and  knife-sticking  from  her  well  thumbed 
line  of  emotions. 


74          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

I  never  go  down  to  a  police  station  and 
wait  for  a  murder  to  break. 

Or  hang  about  parapets  waiting  for  some- 
one to  push  someone  else  over. 

Or  poke  about  in  brewery  backyards  after 
midnight,  or  get  a  seat  in  a  bank  near  a  safe, 
or  squeeze  myself  into  the  underworld,  or 
arrive  jauntily  at  the  brink  of  a  deep,  dark 
murderously  inclined  cistern  at  the  opportune 
moment  when  ragged  Jack  puts  his  pal  out. 

If  I  purposely  avoid  all  these  deadly  haunts 
what  business  has  a  movie  owner  to  drag  me 
thither? 

I  had  paid  to  sit  down  in  my  new  wistaria 
gown  on  fragments  of  buttered  popcorn. 
There  were  cuds  and  wads  of  gum  on  the  floor 
that  stuck  to  my  satin  slippers.  Someone 
behind  me  poured  typhoons  of  garlic  around 
my  head.  The  electric  fan  blew  twenty- 
seven  kinds  of  perfume  into  my  nostrils  each 
distinctly  incompatible  with  the  other.  But 
perhaps  all  this  debasement  of  matter  would 
lead  to  an  elevation  of  soul.  Not  so.  A 
screen  person  dashed  across  my  vision  with 
a  foot  closely  resembling  the  club  used  in 
promoting  warfare  in  the  paleozoic  age.  He 


MOVIES  75 

raised  this  hideous  weapon  and  smote  an 
unoffending  female  screen  person  smack  in 
the  jaw.  It  was  ethereal  art.  It  was  the 
acme  of  delicate,  dreamy  creation. 

More  screen  persons  appeared.  They  were 
attired  in  the  greasy,  cast-off  clothes  of  third- 
rate  mechanics,  collected  by  enterprising  rag 
men  at  twenty  cents  a  thousand.  Each 
screener  swiped,  banged,  slugged,  mutilated 
and  murdered  every  other  screener.  All  the 
boys  in  the  audience  sat  on  the  edge  of  their 
seats  and  whistled.  All  the  men  slapped 
their  knees  and  said,  "Wife,  that's  the  funniest 
thing  I've  seen  since  Hector  was  a  pup."  The 
girls  produced  a  lilting  giggle  that  ran  up 
to  high  C  and  drowned  out  the  organist  who 
was  wailingly  telling  us,  in  rag-time,  about 
the  demise  of  the  only  rose  left  on  the  bush 
last  summer. 

I   went  out. 

The  ticket  chopper,  who  had  been  hanging 
over  the  rear  row  of  seats,  thereby  mutilating 
the  rules  of  the  house,  and  whose  eyes  were 
almost  spilling  off  his  face  with  joy,  wrested 
his  gaze  from  the  screen  long  enough  to 
demand  to  be  told  why  I  was  leaving.  I 


76          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

replied  that  I  did  not  care  for  the  picture. 
He  thought  I  lied.  He  was  convinced  that 
I  had  cherry  pie  and  iced  coffee  for  supper 
and  that  I  was  gripped  by  dyspepsia. 

I  went  home  and  whistled  the  dog  in  from 
the  yard.  I  got  down  on  the  floor  and 
watched  him  gnaw  bones.  I  began  to  come 
up  out  of  the  depths  of  the  degradation 
engendered  by  the  maudlin  film.  At  last  I 
sat  up  and  took  notice.  I  saw  that  the  dog 
was  neat,  kindly  and  free  from  buffoonery.  I 
was  in  good  company.  My  self-respect  edged 
gingerly  back. 

Presently  I  was  entirely  adjusted  again 
through  the  sane,  correct  deportment  of  my 
bull  terrier  —  who  is  a  gentleman. 


JOTTING   THE    SIXTEENTH 

BEATING  IT  OFF   THE   BEAT 

T  LIKE  policemen.  They  thrill  me. 
•*•  Some  people  drink  hot  milk  before  re- 
tiring which  serves  to  put  them  in  a  comatose 
condition  from  whence  they  slip  over  easily 
into  the  land  of  nod  and  sleep  through  the 
whole  night.  But  I  prefer  to  jog  around  the 
block  about  11.30  p.  m.,  meet  the  policeman 
on  the  beat  and  hear  a  thriller  that  keeps 
me  awake  half  the  night.  I  like  to  go  to  bed 
feeling  that  I  £m  in  a  highly  exciting  world, 
peopled  with  mysteriously  interesting  beings. 
Nothing  conveys  this  impression  so  quickly 
and  satisfactorily  as  a  blue  chestful  of  shining 
buttons  and  a  guttural  voice  that  whispers, 
"See,  that  dip  passin'  under  the  shadow  of 
that  ellum?  He's  a  bad  one.  Got  both 
peepers  on  him." 

To-night  Officer  Mooney  and  I  were  loiter- 
ing along  just  outside  a  carefully  trimmed 

77 


78          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

hedge.  We  glanced  over  the  top  of  it,  up  a 
flight  of  white  stone  steps  and  our  gaze 
came  to  rest,  musingly,  on  a  rose-tinted  lamp 
shade. 

There  were  two  figures  moving  about  the 
room  near  the  lamp.  One  was  the  figure  of 
Aston  Peters,  a  man  well  known  on  the 
Street.  The  other  figure  was  that  of  his 
wife.  They  were  engaged  in  a  dispute.  We 
craned  our  necks  over  the  hedge  and  listened 
intently. 

"It  is  perfectly  horrible,"  wailed  Mrs. 
Peters,  "you  have  been  to  that  dreadful 
club  again  and  I  detect  a  mixed  drink  on 
your  breath.  What?  Well,  perhaps  you 
think  you  are  sober.  Perhaps  you  can  walk 
up  and  down  the  pattern  in  the  rug  and  make 
no  mistakes.  Perhaps  you  do  feel  your 
usual  self,  but  I  know  what  drink  does  to 
men!" 

"Now  —  now,  my  dear." 

"Not  a  word.  I  won't  listen.  I've  ordered 
Jenkins  to  smash,  spill  or  drink,  all  the  liquor 
in  the  house  —  anything  to  get  it  out  of  your 
way." 

"Really,  aren't  you  carrying  this  foolish- 


BEATING  IT  OFF  THE  BEAT      79 

ness  a  little  too  far,  my  dear  girl?"  Ashton 
advanced  with  pacific  intentions  and  shook 
his  wife's  arm  with  gentle  persuasiveness. 

"There  —  you  are  becoming  brutal  al- 
ready! Actually  attacking  me!  If  you  lay 
hands  on  me  and  shake  me  after  one  drink 
what  would  you  do  after  five?"  Mrs.  Peters 
drew  away  from  her  husband  and  trembled. 
"I  believe  after  ten  drinks  you  might  murder 
me!" 

"If  that  is  your  opinion  of  me  and  I  can't 
procure  a  harmless  beverage  at  my  club  or  in 
my  home,  I  shall  have  to  go  elsewhere  to 
get  it." 

Mrs.  Peters  shrieked  and  cried. 

Officer  Mooney  shifted  to  his  left  foot, 
picked  a  twig  from  the  hedge,  stuck  it  between 
his  teeth  and  grinned  complacently. 

The  imposing  front  door  of  Mr.  Peters' 
white  stone  dwelling  opened  and  Mr.  Peters, 
carrying  a  black  well-filled  bag,  descended 
the  steps.  A  limousine  rolled  to  the  curb 
and  stopped. 

"Good  evening,  officer,"  called  Mr.  Peters 
pleasantly. 

"Aven',  sor.     Can  I  give  you  a  bit  of  a  lift 


8o          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

into  the  car  wid  yer  baggage?  Coin'  away 
fer  a  bit  I  see." 

"Yes  —  yes,  for  about  thirty  days.  A 
change  sometimes  clears  the  atmosphere." 

Officer  Mooney  and  I  moved  along  to  the 
other  end  of  his  beat  and  spied  around  just 
outside  a  tumbled  down  fence.  We  glanced 
over  the  top  of  it,  up  a  flight  of  rickety  old 
steps  and  our  gaze  came  to  rest,  musingly, 
on  a  kerosene  lamp.  There  were  two  figures 
moving  about  the  room  near  the  lamp.  One 
was  the  figure  of  Ashcan  Pete,  well  known  in 
the  streets  and  alleys,  and  the  other  figure 
was  that  of  his  wife.  They  were  quarreling. 
We  craned  our  necks  over  the  fence  and 
listened  intently. 

"It's  a  holy  shame,  that's  what  it  is !  You 
been  to  that  saloon  again.  I  smell  suds  on 
yer  breat'  Huh?  Perhaps  yer  can  eat  wid- 
out  spillin',  but  it's  me  that  knows  the  end 
of  a  beginning." 

"Cut  it  now,"  drawled  Pete. 

"Yes,  I'll  cut  it.  I'll  smash  it!  I'll  spill 
it!  I'll  see  you  don't  get  no  more  outen  that 
pail." 

"Leave  it  be  I'm  tellin'  yer.     Quit  kiddin' 


BEATING  IT  OFF  THE  BEAT      81 

yerself  into  a  dictater's  job.  If  I  want  my 
beer  who's  to  stop  me?"  Pete  advanced 
with  pacific  intentions  and  shook  his  wife's 
arm  with  clumsy  playfulness.  "If  I  dassent 
drink  home  I  gotto  go  out." 

"Leggo!  Take  them  murderous  hands  off 
me!  'Cause  I  try  to  save  you  from  ruin  you 
beat  me.  Help!  Murder!  Police!" 

Officer  Mooney  advanced  by  leaps.  He 
muttered  and  scowled.  He  dragged  Ashcan 
Pete  down  the  old  rickety  steps.  "Fine 
mess  you  are  to  cause  a  row  this  beautiful 
evenin',"  he  sneered.  "You'll  get  a  change 
of  scene,  for  about  thirty  days,  you  will, 
old  bird." 


JOTTING   THE    SEVENTEENTH 

THE  MAN  AND  HIS  DOLLAR 

T  AST  night  I  stayed  with  some  friends, 
-"  the  Albert  Cases.  At  nine  o'clock  this 
morning  Albert  Case  folded  his  newspaper, 
settled  his  tie  and  rose  from  the  breakfast 
table. 

Mrs.  Case  also  arose.  She  had  prepared 
the  breakfast.  She  had  attended  to  her 
husband's  every  wish,  trotting  back  and 
forth  with  extra  cream,  more  butter  and  a 
third  supply  of  cereal. 

She  spoke. 

"I'd  —  I'd  —  I'd  like  a  dollar,  Albert." 

"A  dollar!"  roared  Albert.  "Now  what 
on  earth  do  you  need  a  dollar  for?  I  am 
obliged  to  remind  you  again  that  this  is  war 
time.  You  have  the  privilege  of  ordering 
whatever  is  absolutely  necessary  from  the 
shops.  I'm  sure  you  already  have  every 
comfort  and  convenience.  There's  the  fine 

82 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  DOLLAR     83 

new  marble  sink,  a  library  full  of  books  and 
a  new  hose  for  the  garden  —  why,  there  are 
hundreds  of  dollars  worth  of  things  all  over 
the  place.  You  have  plenty  to  keep  you 
busy  as  a  bee.  Why  should  you  go  out  and 
spend  a  dollar?  Don't  you  know  that  every 
dollar  spent  is  a  drag  on  the  nation?" 

"I  —  I  thought  I  would  go  down  to  see 
mother  and  I  need  a  little  carfare." 

"Can't  you  walk?  I  notice  you  are  gaining 
flesh.  Or  why  not  telephone  your  mother? 
The  telephone  is  an  expense  and  here  you 
are  simply  disregarding  it  entirely.  Right 
on  top  of  my  paying  the  bill  for  last  month 
you  ask  for  a  dollar  and  prepare  to  waste, 
absolutely  waste,  the  telephone  service.  I 
insist  upon  getting  full  value  for  every  dollar 
I  spend.  I  don't  fritter  away  money  riding 
idly  back  and  forth  on  the  street  cars.  The 
government  says  it's  up  to  you  women  to 
help  win  this  war,  so  just  be  sensible  now 
and  stay  home  to-day.  You  can  put  up 
some  vegetables  for  winter  use  and  write 
out  some  economical  menus.  I'll  keep  that 
dollar  and  put  it  to  some  really  good  use." 

Case  went  to  the  city.     The  dollar  clanked 


84          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

up  and  down  in  his  pocket,  against  a  company 
of  nickels  and  dimes,  and  beat  an  accompani- 
ment to  the  warm  feeling  of  pleasure  induced 
by  having  his  way. 

The  noon  hour  came.  Case  had  a  deal 
on  so  he  invited  a  man  out  to  lunch.  They 
got  to  talking  about  war  and  economy. 
They  said  economy  should  begin  at  home. 

"Yep,  that's  where  the  root  of  the  matter 
lies,"  argued  Case.  "Too  much  waste  in 
our  homes.  Wives  insist  upon  having  ferns 
on  the  table.  They  think  meals  are  in- 
complete without  silly,  frilly  salads.  They 
waste  money  on  pastry  and  pickles.  Now 
what  woman  would  be  content  with  steak, 
mushrooms,  vegetables,  bread  and  butter, 
and  coffee?  We've  got  to  train  our  wives. 
Only  this  morning  mine  asked  me  for  money 
to  spend  on  pure  nonsense.  But  I  showed 
her  the  folly  of  such  conduct." 

Case  slapped  the  dollar  in  his  pocket  with 
great  satisfaction. 

The  waiter  presented  his  check.  A  gift 
of  equal  amount  would  have  filled  the  heart 
of  a  housewife  with  joy.  It  was  sufficient 
to  cover  a  three  days'  supply  of  coffee, 
eggs,  butter,  vegetables  and  so  forth. 


THE  MAN  AND  HIS  DOLLAR     85 

Case  got  out  his  black  leather  wallet  and 
ran  over  his  stock  of  bills. 

"Nice  little  luncheon,"  murmured  he  to 
himself,  "good  waiter,  too.  He  remembered 
my  idiosyncrasy  for  draughts.  Very  thought- 
ful of  him  to  close  the  windows.  Probably 
appreciate  an  extra  tip." 

Back  on  Carrington  Avenue,  at  this  iden- 
tical moment,  trudged  Mrs.  Case  on  her 
way  to  her  mother's.  She  was  buoyed  up 
by  the  thought  of  her  dollar  sacrifice  to  the 
nation's  well  being.  It  was  right  that  Albert 
should  keep  all  the  funds.  He  would  know 
just  what  to  do  with  that  dollar. 

He  did.  He  put  it  under  his  luncheon 
check  as  a  tip  for  the  waiter. 


JOTTING   THE    EIGHTEENTH 

A  NEGATIVE  PURCHASE 

day  last  week  somebody  paid  me 
some  money.  Suddenly  my  nice,  com- 
fortable, three-season-old  furs  appeared  to 
me  like  the  frayed  outsides  of  a  deceased 
cat  —  a  mangy,  anaemic,  bed-ridden  cat  that 
had  never  paid  much  attention  to  its  appear- 
ance from  the  beginning  and  was  probably 
assisted  out  of  the  world  by  a  vigilant  health 
department. 

With  such  thoughts  as  these,  and  with 
MONEY  bulging  out  of  my  purse,  I  strayed 
to  a  shop  where  furs  were  for  sale.  Ordin- 
arily I  had  hustled  by  the  place  —  war  time* 
economy,  must  save  to  help  the  nation  and 
all  that,  well,  you  know  the  line  of  argument 
you  use  to  dampen  your  ardor  when  you 
see  something  you  want  and  can't  possibly 
pay  for.  But  with  a  wad  of  bills  in  my 
clutch  somehow  everything  looked  different. 

86 


A  NEGATIVE  PURCHASE          87 

People  seemed  happy.  The  war  news  was 
far  less  depressing.  I  even  thought  of  buying 
a  theatre  ticket. 

I  went  up  brazenly  to  the  fur  shop  window 
and  gazed  boldly  at  the  contents  within. 
My  word!  How  ratty  my  old  furs  did  look! 

I  entered  the  fur  shop  determined  on 
exchanging  the  bulge  in  my  purse  for  new 
furs.  Evidently  the  manager  had  stepped 
out  for  a  shave,  or  to  procure  an  egg  phos- 
phate, at  any  rate  the  clerks  were  not  ex- 
pecting company.  After  poking  about  among 
ermine,  sable  and  lynx  garments  of  various 
shapes  for  quite  a  long  time,  I  discovered 
one  clerk  doing  up  her  back  hair  behind 
a  screen.  Two  other  young  ladies  were 
eating  cream  puffs  in  a  secluded  nook.  All 
the  sugar  that  hadn't  found  its  way  into 
their  pink  mouths  was  etched  in  delicate 
fringes  on  their  pink  faces.  Eating  cream 
puffs  is  an  empyreal  pastime.  It  lifts  one 
above  sordid  things  into  the  realm  of  fancy. 
I  adore  glimpses  of  the  young  engaged  in 
soul-satisfying  pursuits.  These  little  clerks 
were  not  in  a  mood  for  barter  and  sale.  I 
could  not  expect  it  of  them! 


88          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

Ah,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  was  a  group 
of  three  more  young  persons  leaning  lan- 
guidly against  a  counter  in  the  act  of  wresting 
a  living  from  a  stingy  world.  I  approached 
them. 

"I  want  to  purchase  some  furs,"  I  said. 

"What  kind  do  you  want?  —  say, 
Rose,  what  do  you  think  —  he's  blonde!" 

"Perhaps  if  you  will  show  me  the  different 
kinds  I  can  make  a  selection." 

"Most  of  our  stock's  up  in  the  work-room 
yet  —  it  will  seem  awfully  strange  going  to  a 
dance  with  a  fellow  I  have  never  even  seen!" 

"I'll  try  on  that  black  scarf  in  the  corner, 
please." 

"That's  not  exactly  your  style,  madam. 
The  one  you  have  on  is  more  the  shape  you 
should  wear  —  I'll  tell  you  just  how  it  was, 
Rose.  Brother  Frank  met  him  — "  and  so 
on  and  so  on. 

The  inattentive  clerk  had  discrimination. 
I  should  have  to  credit  her  with  that.  I  had 
always  known  the  cut  of  my  furs  was  excellent. 

"Yes,  my  furs  were  very  good  once.  They 
are  somewhat  shabby  now  —  about  the  neck, 
for  instance." 


A  NEGATIVE  PURCHASE          89 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing!  People  are  using 
white  insets  and  collars  this  season  to  remedy 
that  —  and  so  brother  Frank  told  him  that 
I—" 

"And  the  lining  of  my  muff  is  gone,  posi- 
tively gone,"  I  pleaded. 

"You  can  reline  that  easily  yourself  at 
home.  Just  examine  some  of  the  muffs  on 
the  counter  and  see  how  it's  done  —  and  he 
told  him  I  was  a  beautiful  dancer  — " 

Was  the  clerk  so  much  in  love  with  her 
country  that  she  was  endeavoring  to  help  me 
save  money,  or  was  she  so  much  in  love  with 
a  blonde  man  that  she  hadn't  the  inclina- 
tion to  help  me  spend  it.  I  didn't  know. 
But  I  did  know  that  she  had  cast  some 
pretty  good  suggestions  in  my  direction. 
I  stood  in  the  fur  shop  and  mentally  made 
over  my  old  muff  and  scarf.  I  put  an  ermine 
band  in  the  neck  of  the  scarf,  attached  a 
cord  and  silver  ring  to  the  muff  and  re- 
furbished its  interior  with  pearl  gray  satin. 
The  outfit  looked  very  nice.  For  an  even- 
ing's work  and  six  dollars  I  bought  back  my 
old  furs. 

I^went  out. 


90  BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

A  sibilant  whisper  reached  me  as  I  closed 
the  door.  "She  didn't  want  to  buy  any- 
thing anyway  —  she  looked  too  tacky.  Let's 
see,  where  was  I?  I'd  get  this  story  told 
some  time,  Rose,  if  people  didn't  come 
bothering  around.  The  very  next  day  he 
called  me  'sweetie'  over  the  telephone  and  — " 


JOTTING   THE    NINETEENTH 

UNTRANSLATABLE 

'T^HE  professor  of  languages  was  very  busy 
•*•  in  his  study  with  a  number  of  callers 
when  I  went  in. 

"I  understand,  madam,"  said  he,  turning 
to  an  elderly  lady,  "that  it  is  your  desire 
to  have  me  translate  all  ten  of  these  pages 
into  Russian?" 

"Please." 

"And  you,  sir,  want  some  light  on  these 
Norwegian,  Chinese  and  Indian  documents?" 

"Exactly." 

"And,  young  lady,"  continued  the  professor 
turning  to  a  blushing  young  miss,  "you 
desire  me  to  arrive  at  the  meaning  in  these 
French  and  Italian  letters?" 

"Yes,  sir  —  how  wonderful  you  are,  sir, 
to  understand  so  many  languages!" 

"All  very  simple,  my  friends.  The  in- 
tricacies of  foreign  languages  are,  to  me,  as 
pellucid  as  a  stream  in  the  morning  sun. 
01 


92  BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

There  is  no  modern  language  that  presents 
any  difficulty  I  cannot  easily  surmount.  No 
matter  from  what  corner  of  the  globe  a 
person  may  come  I  can  understand  him! 
Perhaps  he  presents  some  profound  thought 
in  a  most  involved  style,  but  it's  only  a  matter 
of  seconds  before  I  am  able  to  get  the  gist 
of  it  completely." 

The  persons  sitting  about  the  professor's 
study  gazed  at  him  solemnly  in  round-eyed 
awe. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  and  the  professor 
reached  for  the  receiver. 

"Yes,  yes,  hello,  is  it  you,  my  dear?  What? 
Please  repeat  that  last  sentence.  What? 
Pardon,  I  don't  seem  to  follow  you.  Now, 
my  dear  wife,  can't  you  talk  a  trifle  slower 
and  more  distinctly?  What?  No,  I  can't 
catch  your  meaning  at  all.  I  am  very  busy 
with  some  translations  just  now.  Call  me 
later.  What?  Oh,  pshaw!  What  are  you 
talking  about?  Why,  I  haven't  understood 
a  word  you  have  said!" 


JOTTING    THE  TWENTIETH 

THE  MAN  WHO  LISTENED 


That  was  a  shabby  trick—" 
mourned  Van  Dyke,  "I'll  go  over  to 
the  club,  mix  in  with  the  boys,  tell  'em  my 
troubles  and  shake  off  these  blues.  I'll 
prove  to  myself  I've  got  some  real  friends." 

Van  Dyke  crossed  the  avenue  and  a  gust 
of  wind  blew  him  in  through  the  club  door. 
Shedding  his  dripping  hat  and  coat  he  joined 
a  merry  half  circle  drawn  u  p  before  a  crackling 
fire. 

He  had  one  or  two. 

"That  man  Simonds,  that  called  himself 
a  friend  of  mine,  certainly  did  me  brown. 
Let  me  tell  you  fellows  about  it  —  " 

"Sorry,  old  top,"  explained  a  man  at  the 
edge  of  the  circle  as  he  arose  hurriedly,  "but 
I've  got  to  get  up  to  the  hospital,  wife  is 
there  ill,  you  know." 

Van   Dyke   nodded. 


94          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Well,  the  sneak  went  to  my  office  in  my 
absence,  bribed  my  stenographer — " 

"Jove!  I  didn't  realize  it  was  so  late! 
Got  tickets  for  the  theatre.  Excuse  us,  old 
chap,"  begged  two  brisk  young  men  rising 
from  the  center  of  the  circle. 

"And  in  perfect  confidence  I  told  him 
about  that  £10,000  deal  and  what  did  he 
do  but  — " 

Just  here  one  of  the  circle  was  called  to 
the  telephone,  two  more  murmured  something 
simultaneously  about  "Like  to  hear  the 
finish  some  other  time,  awfully  sorry,  you 
know  —  really  must  go." 

Presently  Van  Dyke  wound  up  his  tale, 
concluding  his  remarks  to  a  circle  that  had 
dwindled  to  one.  And  this  one  a  young 
stranger.  He  seemed  intensely  interested  in 
the  story  Van  Dyke  was  telling.  He  bent 
forward  eagerly  to  hear  the  last  word.  He 
nodded  in  a  very  friendly,  sympathetic 
manner. 

"Wonder  who  he  is?"  thought  Van  Dyke, 
"Nice  chap.  Can't  remember  him."  Then 
aloud,  "Thanks  for  listening.  You  can't 
imagine  what  a  relief  it  is  to  have  a  friend 


THE  MAN  WHO  LISTENED       95 

to  tell  a  thing  like  this  to  —  helps  a 
lot." 

"Well,  Mr.  Van  Dyke,  I  think  there  is 
no  question  that  you  can  get  back  at  that 
fellow  Simonds.  If  you  will  step  over  to 
my  office  in  the  morning  we  can  go  into  the 
matter  even  more  thoroughly." 

He  handed  Van  Dyke  a  card.  Van  Dyke 
no  longer  wondered  who  his  attentive  friend 
was.  The  card  enlightened  him. 

He  was  a  lawyer. 


JOTTING   THE   TWENTY-FIRST 

IDENTIFICATION 

,  John!"  called  a  friend  of  mine  to 
her  husband  one  rainy  morning  as 
he  left  the  house,  "here  you  are  starting  out 
with  a  new  umbrella  again  and  I  know  you'll 
come  home  without  it  to-night.  You've  paid 
enough  for  umbrellas  in  the  last  year  to  buy 
me  a  dinner  gown  trimmed  with  spangles. 
Can't  you  put  a  tag  on  this  new  umbrella 
so  that  if  you  leave  it  around,  absent- 
mindedly,  in  stores  and  offices,  people  will 
return  it  to  you?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  can,  my  dear  —  it  seems 
a  bit  finical  to  plaster  an  umbrella  with 
directions,  but,  as  you  say,  I  am  absent- 
minded  so  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  have 
some  means  of  identification  on  the  umbrella." 

"Attend  to  it  to-day,  John." 

"Yes,m'dear." 


IDENTIFICATION  07 

So  John,  acting  on  his  promise,  gave  the 
office  boy  directions  to  print  a  tag  in  heavy 
letters  which  should  read:  "I  am  absent- 
minded.  If  you  find  this  umbrella,  kindly 
drop  me  a  line,  phone  or  call  concerning  it.'* 

When  the  tag  was  completed,  John  tied 
it  on  the  umbrella.  Then  he  sent  the  boy 
to  a  nearby  jewelry  store  where  silver  fili- 
gree names  were  to  be  bought  and  applied, 
on  short  notice,  to  umbrella  handles,  pocket- 
books,  leather  cases  and  so  on.  He  had 
written  a  note  to  the  jeweler  giving  directions 
as  to  the  height  of  the  letter  to  be  used. 

The  umbrella  was  ready  at  five  o'clock 
and  John  paid  for  it  and  went  home. 

"Well,  you  'dear  old  thing  "  cried  John's 
wife,  meeting  him  at  the  door.  "You've 
actually  put  some  means  of  identification 
on  your  umbrella  at  last.  I  could  see  the 
yellow  tag  flapping  about  when  you  were 
way  down  at  the  corner." 

"Yep,  m'dear,  gave  a  little  history  of 
myself  on  the  tag,  while  I  was  about  it. 
Said  right  out  that  I  was  absent-minded. 
Thought  my  infirmity  might  touch  an  in- 
different world.  People  always  put  them- 
selves out  for  a  body  who  is  absent-minded." 


98          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

John's  wife  read  the  tag.  "It's  all  right 
as  far  as  it  goes,  but  you've  forgotten  to  put 
your  name  on  the  tag!" 

"That's  all  been  thought  of,  m'dear," 
John  returned  with  a  superior  air  as  he 
removed  a  concealing  hand  from  the  handle 
of  the  umbrella.  "Got  that  done  in  silver 
at  the  jeweler's.  So  large  nobody  can  miss 
it.  Observe  it,  m'dear." 

She  did.  She  observed  one  word  —  noth- 
ing more  —  no  initials  —  just  John's  surname. 
She  read  the  name  aloud  in  a  tone  of  sorrowful 
stupification. 

The  name  was  JONES. 


JOTTING   THE   TWENTY-SECOND 

TIRED  BUT  ATTIRED 

A  LADY  of  fashion,  and  her  maid,  had 
^^  arrived  at  a  gay  winter  resort.  They 
stood  in  the  train  shed  awaiting  their  trunks. 

"Are  you  sure,  Fifi,  that  all  the  purchases 
I  made  yesterday  reached  home  before  we 
left  and  that  you  packed  them  safely?  I 
shall  need  a  great  many  of  those  articles  to 
wear  at  dinner  to-night." 

"Yes,  Madame,  absolutely  all  that  Madame 
bought  is  now  in  the  trunks.  I  have  here 
the  lists  checked." 

"Run,  Fifi,  run,  quick  —  tell  that  express- 
man that  I  must  have  every  one  of  those 
eight  trunks  delivered  at  the  hotel  at  once. 
I  can't  appear  at  dinner  on  the  very  first 
night  without  making  a  complete  and  convinc- 
ing toilette.  I  shall  need  every  one  of  those 
trunks,  because  some  of  the  things  I  want 
are  in  one  and  some  in  another." 
99 


ioo       BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

Fifi  consulted  the  expressman.  She 
returned. 

"He  say,  Madame,  will  you  not  be  satisfy 
with  four  trunk  at  the  first  trip  and  four 
more  this  evening?  One  of  the  horse  have 
a  bad  sick  headache." 

"Satisfied  with  half  my  clothes?  Certainly 
not!  I  must  have  everything.  It  is  of 
utmost  importance  that  my  first  evening 
sees  me  well  and  becomingly  gowned." 

For  several  hours  Fifi  unpacked  and  put 
away,  unpacked  and  put  away.  Madame 
turned  the  hotel  upside  down  with  requests 
for  ironing  boards;  irons;  porters  to  move 
the  trunks  out  of  the  room  as  they  were 
emptied;  boys  to  run  to  the  drug  store;  the 
clerk  to  have  the  furniture  shifted  so  the 
cheval  glass  would  stand  under  the  chandelier 
in  a  better  light  and  the  dressing  table 
receive  its  full  quota  of  effulgence  from  the 
side  brackets;  the  chambermaid  to  tidy  the 
room;  the  manager  to  view  the  limited  closet 
space  and  figure  on  putting  in  more  shelves 
and  a  double  row  of  hooks;  the  head  waiter 
to  secure  a  prominent  place  for  Madame  in 
the  dining  room. 


TIRED  BUT  ATTIRED  101 

Dinner  time  came  at  last.  The  sick  bag- 
gage horse  was  sicker.  Fifi  was  so  tired  she 
cried.  The  chambermaid  quit  her  job.  The 
clerk,  exasperated  by  Madame's  whims  and 
fancies,  was  impertinent  to  the  manager. 
The  head  waiter  secured  the  particular  seat 
Madame  had  designated  by  making  three 
enemies. 

The  momentous  undertaking  of  attiring 
herself  becomingly,  from  the  eight  trunks, 
brought  to  a  successful  finish,  Madame  floated 
into  the  dining  room. 

She  had  a  wisp,  a  small,  stringy  wisp  of 
corn-colored  chiffon,  draped  across  her  back, 
several  inches  below  her  shoulder  blades, 
and  two  yards  of  dress  goods  draped,  in  utter 
disregard  to  draughts,  a  trifle  below  the 
knees. 

And  she  had  a  rhinestone  comb  in  her  hair. 


JOTTING   THE   TWENTY-THIRD 

VERY  SUSPICIOUS 

/CHARLES  ASHTON  came  home  one 
^•^  evening,  kissed  his  young  wife,  removed 
his  overcoat,  and  went  whistling  cellarward 
to  attend  to  his  nightly  job  of  stoking  the 
furnace. 

Mrs.  Ashton  watched  his  fine,  manly  form 
with  beaming  eyes  as  he  descended  the  cellar 
stairs.  Suddenly  she  gasped  and  clutched 
at  her  throat.  She  stood  perfectly  still  in 
the  middle  of  the  kitchen  and  tears  welled 
into  her  eyes. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  Charles  had 
left  the  house,  Mrs.  Ashton  discharged  the 
maid.  She  gave  the  grocery  boy  a  quarter 
and  had  him  bring  her  trunks  down  from 
the  attic.  She  telephoned  to  a  bird  hospital 
and  made  arrangements  to  board  her  canary 
for  an  indefinite  period  and  her  tone  was 
so  melancholy  the  proprietor  of  the  hospital 
102 


VERY  SUSPICIOUS  103 

concluded  the  poor  lady  must  be  a  victim 
of  some  one  of  those  fearful  catastrophies 
he  had  read  about  in  the  morning  paper. 

Next  Mrs.  Ashton  telephoned  for  a  messen- 
ger boy  and  wrapping  her  Boston  fern  up 
in  a  large  piece  of  brown  paper,  saved  from 
Charles'  laundry  package,  sent  the  plant 
over  to  her  cousin  on  the  other  side  of  the 
city. 

She  put  the  flat  silver  into  the  green 
embroidered  cases  and  tied  it  up  in  neat 
parcels  preparatory  to  taking  it  to  a  safety 
deposit  vault.  Then  she  took  the  pictures 
down  from  the  walls,  crying  a  little  over  one 
or  two  that  she  and  Charles  had  selected 
together,  but  persevering,  in  her  task  of 
dismantling  the  house,  with  grim  determina- 
tion. 

She  covered  the  large  pieces  of  furniture 
with  sheets  and  shuddered  at  the  gaunt, 
ghostly  outlines.  She  telephoned  the  gas 
company  to  come  and  shut  off  the  gas,  and 
asked  the  city  to  cut  off  the  water.  Last 
of  all  she  called  up  police  headquarters  and, 
in  a  sepulchral  tone,  informed  the  lieutenant 
that  a  watch  had  better  be  kept  of  Mr. 


io4        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

Charles    Ashton's    house    as    it   was    to    be 

vacant. 

The  doorbell  rang.  Mrs.  Ashton,  clutching 
her  new  umbrella,  her  hat  on  awry  and  tears 
streaming  onto  her  chin,  opened  the  door 
to  her  mother. 

"Merciful  heavens,  Grace!  Whatever  are 
you  doing?"  demanded  her  horrified  parent. 

"Pm  —  I'm  —  going  back  home  to  live 
with  you,  mother.  I  can't  be  one  of  those 
wives  that  stands  aside  calmly  and  lets  her 
husband  run  away  with  another  woman  and 
travel  all  over  Florida  and  California  and  — 
and  —  Australia  " 

"See  here,  child,  do  talk  sense.  Hasn't 
Charles  been  a  good  husband?  Have  you 
any  real  reason  to  suspect  he  intends  to  leave 
you  ?  I  know  what  an  impulsive,  imaginative 
creature  you  are.  Now,  has  Charles  actually 
said  or  done  anything  at  all  to  lead  you  to 
suspect  him?" 

"Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!"  sobbed  young  Mrs. 
Ashton,  "he  came  home  last  night  with  a 
railway  guide  sticking  out  of  his  pocket!" 


JOTTING  THE   TWENTY-FOURTH 

WEARING  OF  THE  LONG  GREEN 

"IDEALLY,  George,  I  feel  a  glow  of  pride 
•*^*  every  time  I  save  even  the  tiniest 
thing  these  days.  You  can't  imagine  what 
teeny-weeny,  thin  skins  I  pare  from  the 
apples  that  I  use  for  sauce,  or  how  I  hoard 
tag  ends  of  bread  and  scraps  of  all  kinds." 

"Well,  I  have  noticed  that  the  menu 
seemed  a  bit  pinched  now  and  then,"  George 
asseverated,  "but  that's  right,  my  dear  —  it 
is  a  splendid  spirit  and  I  commend  it  in  you." 

"I  used  to  buy  unnecessary  articles,  too, 
for  my  toilette  very  often.  Those  hair  nets, 
for  instance.  Now  instead  of  paying  tweirty- 
five  cents  every  time  I  do  up  my  hair  I  just 
step  to  the  faucet  and  with  two  dashes  of 
water,  absolutely  free  water,  I  slick  my  hair 
down  into  place  and  am  entirely  independent 
of  the  extravagant  net." 

"Well,  well,  that  is  a  discovery  to  be  sure, 
my  dear." 

106 


io6        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

"Have  you  ever  considered  the  appalling 
number  of  gloves  a  woman  wears  during  the 
four  seasons,  George?  Thin,  thick,  long  and 
short  in  the  silk  varieties  of  gloves  for  special 
occasions;  then  the  tan,  pearl  gray,  white 
and  black  kid  gloves  for  still  other  occasions 
not  forgetting  the  red-brown  heavy  affairs 
for  street  wear,  and  the  fuzzy  Scotch  glove 
for  skating.  Oh,  the  list  is  astounding! 
After  I  had  named  the  gloves  of  my  past 
over  to  myself  two  or  three  times  I  felt 
ashamed.  I  am  so  glad  I  have  changed  my 
mode  of  living  entirely  and  that  I  no  longer 
spsenH  money  foolishly,  but  really  try  to 
conserve  in  every  direction  and  make  every 
cent  count. 

"Thinking  along  these  lines,  George,  and 
taking  account  of  the  #350  I  have  accumu- 
lated in  the  last  eight  months,  by  doing 
without  a  servant  and  cutting  down  on  the 
table,  an  idea  came  to  me.  I  decided  to 
go  down  and  get  that  money  out  of  the 
bank.  Cashiers  and  presidents  are  so  un- 
reliable. One  is  apt  to  get  up  almost  any 
morning  and  read  a  front  page  account  of 
the  failure  of  a  bank  out  in  Idaho  or  in 


WEARING  OF  THE  LONG  GREEN  107 

Pennsylvania  or  some  other  place.  It  makes 
me  uncomfortable  to  know  my  money  is 
lying  about  loose,  day  after  day,  where  it 
can  be  a  temptation  to  an  employee  in  the 
bank  and,  who  knows,  perhaps  ruin  some 
woman's  home,  wreck  the  bungalow  before 
half  the  installments  are  paid  and  clap  her 
husband  into  jail.  These  contingencies  weigh 
on  my  mind  terribly,  George,  so  between 
having  saved  the  money,  by  scrimping  over 
our  provisions  (though  I  must  say  I've  had 
plenty  to  eat  as  there  have  been  an  unusual 
number  of  club  meetings  lately  to  consider 
the  question  of  feeding  the  poor,  and  the 
hostess  always  serves  sandwiches  and  cake), 
between,  as  I  say,  working  to  save  the  money 
and  worrying  over  the  safety  of  the  bank, 
my  better  judgment  guided  me  to  take  my 
$350  right  over  to  the  jeweler's  where  I 
bought  — " 

"What?  What?  You  bought  something 
at  a  jeweler's!  Bought  something  for  £350! 
Oh  !  Oh  !" 

"Be  calm,  George,  you  will  see  I  have 
considered  the  matter  from  all  sides.  Dia- 
monds are  a  safe  investment.  The  jeweler 


io8          BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

has  generously  provided  several  little  pamph- 
lets explaining  the  system  at  length  to  anyone 
who  is  so  short-sighted  as  not  to  realize  the 
fact  at  first  glance.  Look !  I  have  purchased 
this  lovely  diamond  and  in  this  way  I  can 
carry  my  $350  right  around  with  me  in  a 
compact  and  beautiful  form,  which  con- 
trasted with  lugging  a  great  wad  of  vulgar, 
crumpled  up  bills  has  every  advantage.  And 
last  of  all,  George,  after  showing  you  in 
what  an  esthetic  way  we  women  can  handle 
grubby,  drab  business  affairs,  I  come  to 
my  great  stroke  on  the  side  of  economy. 
Think,  George,  think  —  now  that  I  have 
this  wonderful  diamond  on  my  finger  I  shall 
never  wear  gloves  any  more!" 


JOTTING   THE   TWENTY-FIFTH 

A  DATE  WITH  FATE 


"fr°OD  HEAVENS>  Mary»  what  makes 

^J  you  so  restless?"  Mr.  Willis  crackled 
his  newspaper  and  stared  at  his  wife.  "Every 
time  that  I  get  to  the  third  word  in  this 
headline  and  inform  myself  that  'Russia  is 
Nearing  —  '  you  make  a  sudden  move  and 
Pm  back  in  the  U.  S." 

"Tom  Willis"  returned  his  wife,  "you 
are  tiresome  and  exasperating.  You  don't 
do  a  thing  to  make  my  evenings  interesting. 
You  are  as  superfluous  as  a  traffic  cop  in 
Venice.  There  you  sit  with  a  newspaper 
around  your  head  and  a  bathrobe  around 
your  feet,  while  a  lovely  moon  is  shining 
outdoors!"  She  drew  nearer  and  glared  at 
her  husband. 

"Fve  crocheted  enough  lace,  evenings,  in 
the  last  six  months,  to  stretch  twice  around 
the  walls  of  China.  I  simply  abhor  sitting 

109 


no         BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

here  every  night  simply  because  you  have 
a  neuralgic  pain  in  your  shoulder-blade." 

"Go  out,  my  dear,"  suggested  Mr.  Willis, 
his  eyes  still  searching  his  paper.  "Take  a 
turn  about  the  park  in  the  motor.  The  new 
chauffeur  came  yesterday  and  he  complained 
to-day  abotft  having  nothing  to  do." 

Mrs.  Willis,  with  drooping,  dejected  shoul- 
ders, traveled  the  length  of  the  library  and 
stood  viewing  herself  in  a  pier  glass  at  the 
far  end  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  room. 

There  was  no  doubt  her  corsetiere  was  an 
artist.  How  well  sage  green  looked,  con- 
trasted with  a  clear  skin!  Really,  seven 
years  of  married  life  sometimes  improves  a 
woman.  But  a  man!  Her  eyes  returned 
to  Tom.  He  was  unmistakably  round  and 
smug.  He  was  prosaic. 

Silence  settled  itself  warily.  Mrs.  Willis 
retreated  into  a  recess  and,  from  behind  a 
brocaded  curtain,  peered  out  onto  the  moon- 
lit avenue. 

Somebody  was  going  by.  With  nose 
misshapen  against  the  glass,  she  assured 
herself  that  the  person,  who  looked  like  a 
baker,  did  have  his  arm  around  the  fluffy 


A  DATE  WITH  FATE  in 

maiden  at  his  side.  The  fever  of  romance 
went  pumping  through  Mary  Willis's  veins. 
She  opened  a  closet  door,  took  down  a  hat 
and  coat  and  stepped  into  the  vestibule. 

Mr.  Willis,  startled,  rose  slowly. 

"I'm  going  out,"  called  his  wife's  voice, 
"and  I'm  going  alone  and  I  sh^ll  not  come 
in  till  I've  had  an  adventure.  Don't  send 
the  cook  after  me  with  more  wraps.  I  want 
to  sit  in  the  moonlight  and  feel  chilly  and 
sentimental." 

The  front  door  banged.  It  shut  her  out 
where  there  were  lovers  and  fragrant  syringa 
bushes;  and  shut  him  in  with  the  stock 
reports  and  the  war  and  long  columns  of 
"Roomers  Wanted." 

She  straightened  her  hat,  put  on  a  pair 
of  white  silk  gloves  and  fastened  the  neck 
of  her  coat.  Then  she  hurried  along  to  the 
park.  Up  and  down  she  walked  enjoying 
the  crunch  of  the  gravel.  She  looked  at 
the  moon;  she  smelled  the  flowers.  She 
was  free;  she  could  think  her  own  thoughts; 
could  sit  down  or  get  up.  She  tried  a  bench. 
People  passed  her;  —  lovers.  She  was  con- 
sumed by  a  torrent  of  recklessness  that  no 


ii2        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

thought  of  home  and  a  forty-eight  waist- 
banded  husband  could  stem. 

Leaning  over  a  stone  facade  she  looked 
down  into  a  jungle  of  ferns  and  imported 
roses  —  a  likely  place  for  snakes.  Some- 
thing struck  against  her  ankles  and  she 
screamed.  A  shadow  fell  on  the  white  stone; 
someone  was  behind  her. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  a  pleasant,  youth- 
ful sounding  voice;  "that  was  only  a  comic 
supplement  blowing  about." 

Here  was  the  adventure!  Joy  gripped  her 
heart.  But  before  proceeding  farther  she 
must  make  certain  inquiries. 

"Are  you  bald  and  fat,  or  — "  she  hesitated, 
"or  the  reverse?"  she  finished. 

"My  appearance  is  lank,  my  soul  is  lean, 
and  my  respectability  so  well  established 
as  to  be  cold  and  clammy." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  little  lady;  "come 
around  where  I  can  see  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  voice. 

A  well  set-up  person  appeared,  attired  in 
a  neat  gray  suit.  He  smiled.  His  teeth 
reminded  her  of  the  teeth  of  an  Arabian 
she  had  seen  at  the  Exposition,  and  she 


A  DATE  WITH  FATE  113 

wondered  if  he  used  salt  on  them.  The 
Arabian  had  said  salt  was  positively  the  best 
dentifrice.  Mr.  Willis  had  stubby,  yellow 
teeth. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  Mrs.  Willis 
informed  the  strange  man  briskly,  "that  I've 
come  out  here  because  I  am  sick  and  tired 
of  crocheting  picots  across  guest  towels  and 
because  I  love  romance."  Her  profile  was 
alluring  in  the  silvery  light. 

"Romance  or  dyspepsia,  I  am  at  your 
command.  Only  sorry  I  didn't  arrive  before 
you  were  frightened.  Saw  you  cross  the 
bridge  and  tried  to  catch  up  with  you  there." 

He,  too,  leaned  over  the  facade  and  peered 
down  cautiously  at  nothing  in  particular. 
He  had  nice  slick  hair  and  his  coat  collar 
sat  well. 

Under  the  young  man's  spontaneity,  Mrs. 
Willis  found  the  enervating  effects  of  her 
peevish  mood  clearing  away  like  smoke  before 
a  rollicking  breeze.  A  path,  where  pleasurable 
emotions  would  snub  convention,  was  stretch- 
ing away  before  her.  Gingerly  she  thrust 
her  foot  out  and  took  the  first  step. 

"Suppose  we  try  our  luck  on  the  water." 


114        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

She  pointed,  with  gay  abandon,  down  a  twisty 
flight  of  steps  partly  hidden  by  shrubbery. 
"There  are  boats  down  there." 

"Certainly,"  he  acquiesced.  "I  used  to 
pull  a  pretty  fair  oar." 

Down  they  tripped,  a  guiding  hand  assisting 
Mrs.  Willis  over  the  uneven  places.  Down 
ten  steps  she  thought:  Oh  Bosh  on  Tom 
Willis  sitting  at  home  with  a  moist,  smelly 
hot-water  bag  on  his  old  shoulder!  Tom 
thought,  just  as  all  husbands  did,  that 
loading  motors  and  servants  and  houses  on 
a  woman  took  the  place  of  sweet  words  and 
lover-like  glances.  Servants  and  houses 
weren't  worth  a  bean  on  a  night  like  this. 

Seated  in  the  stern  of  a  boat,  she  compared 
her  husband  with  her  cavalier.  Tom  couldn't 
row  a  boat;  he  ate  too  much  caviars.  He 
couldn't  lift  anybody  off  a  pier  in  arms  of 
steel  or  smile  like  a  god. 

"Where  would  you  like  to  go?"  inquired 
Adonis,  in  a  tone  that  was  warm  and  de- 
liciously  personal.  She  commented,  inwardly, 
on  his  mastery  of  the  minor  points  that  go 
to  perfect  the  art  of  charming. 

It  was  delightful  to  think  their  steps  had 


A  DATE  WITH  FATE  115 

crossed.  It  was  Fate.  She  had  read  about 
Fate  in  books  and  newspapers,  but  to  go 
right  out  and  find  it  so  expeditiously  was 
almost  disconcerting.  And  what  a  pleasant 
thing  it  was,  this  Fate  —  so  obliging. 

"Go  anywhere  you  like,"  she  returned 
dreamily. 

"Rather  where  you  like,"  he  corrected. 
"Just  pick  out  the  route  and  I'll  turn  on  the 
power." 

Settling  herself  comfortably,  she  viewed 
the  rolling  shores  of  the  little  lake.  Here 
and  there  a  light  glimmered.  Opposite, 
among  the  rocks,  a  fire  blazed  up.  People 
were  hopping  about  it  with  long  sticks, 
shouting  triumphantly  over  each  hot,  pasty 
marshmallow.  The  pavilion  was  gay,  but 
she  was  glad  they  had  not  gone  there.  It 
was  hard  to  talk  in  a  mob;  besides,  some  of 
her  friends  might  be  there  and  friends  are 
apt  to  be  stupid  in  matters  of  romance. 

Just  once  a  sharp  tremor  assailed  her  heart, 
but  the  debonair  young  person  resting  on 
his  oars,  brought  her  back  to  the  realm  of 
delightful  mystery. 

"I'm  here  for  just  one  thing  and  that  is  to 


ii6        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

help  you  enjoy  the  scenery,"  he  said,  sending 
a  glory  of  protectiveness  straight  at  her  from 
his  wide  eyes.  "And  there  is  no  limit  to  the 
stunts  I  can  undertake  for  your  amusement." 

"It  is  highly  amusing  just  to  be  free,"  she 
answered;  "suppose  we  drift." 

"Right-o,  but  I  don't  agree  with  your 
qualification  of  freedom.  I've  been  free  for 
years.  Free  from  every  tie  and  I  hate  it. 
Nobody  to  go  away  from,  nobody  to  come 
back  to.  Last  summer  I  spent  in  Italy  and 
the  darned  old  moon  nearly  splintered  my 
spine  with  high  voltage  shivers.  It  is  a 
little  more  considerate  to-night,"  he  added 
gently.  "I  had  a  good  case  of  back  home 
fever  before  I  found  you.  Ever  have  topo- 
graphical tantrums?" 

She  laughed  a  negation.  They  drifted  on 
and  on. 

"You  mustn't  be  disappointed,"  he  re- 
sumed presently,  "if  I  don't  quite  come  up 
to  your  expectation  as  a  conversationalist. 
Talking  to  ladies  is  rather  out  of  my  line 
these  days.  I'll  promise  to  do  better  next 
time." 

She   started.     He   had   said    "next   time." 


A  DATE  WITH  FATE  117 

Then  this  wonderful  adventure  would  con- 
tinue! She  experienced  the  dawning  con- 
sciousness of  an  aerie  mating  that  by  some 
deep,  inner  process  her  being  was  undergoing. 

Her  common  sense,  startled,  sent  a  hurry 
call  to  all  the  wraiths  of  other  days.  Pale 
memories  of  country  villas  came,  vivid  recol- 
lections of  bank  accounts,  confusing  thoughts 
of  an  indulgent  husband  pouring  heaps  of 
gold  along  her  path  with  chubby  hands. 
They  jostled  and  pushed.  Finally,  common 
sense,  with  troubled  haste,  whipped  them 
together  into  a  conglomerate  mass  and  slapped 
them  against  the  lady's  brain,  but  the 
inflammation  had  attacked  her  heart  so 
the  poultice  failed. 

She  told  herself  she  loved  this  boy.  Of 
course  it  was  all  very  sudden.  Big  things 
usually  are.  He  would  take  her  away  some- 
where and  they  would  drift  under  countless 
moons;  would  listen  to  waves  washing  far-off 
shores  and  breathe  the  perfume  of  sweet, 
tropical  flowers.  They  would  see  the  faces 
of  many  strange  peoples  and  her  adoration 
would  keep  him  content  the  whole  world 
over.  He  would  buy  her  wonderful  garments 


n8        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

of  finest  texture  and  bring  them  with  adoring 
arms  and  wrap  her  close. 

An  exclamation  startled  her.  "I  believe 
we  are  running  into  a  storm."  The  young 
man  creaked  the  oars  and  made  a  hurried 
dash  for  shore.  He  lifted  her  from  the  boat 
like  a  wisp  of  straw  and  commanded,  "Run 
for  the  hill;  there  is  a  tunnel  under  it." 

He  followed,  and,  while  the  storm  roared 
and  cracked  and  thundered,  tried  to  pacify 
her.  She  pressed  close  to  his  side.  A  ripping 
flash,  a  frightened  cry,  and  then  an  arm  was 
thrown  around  her  to  hold  her  safe  and 
steady.  She  looked  up  and  smiled,  and 
thought  how  wonderful  he  was.  He  looked 
down  and  smiled  and  thought,  "Caesar! 
She's  a  whole  lot  like  mother.  Same  soft, 
blowy  hair  and  saucy  smile;  about  the  same 
age,  too.  Dear  old  Mummy,  how  thunder 
storms  did  frighten  her!"  The  thought  gave 
impetus  to  his  grip  and  his  arm  tightened 
suddenly. 

It  was  not  very  late  when  Mrs.  Willis 
opened  the  front  door  and  stepped  into 
the  vestibule,  but  the  big  house  was 
dark,  save  for  a  light  on  the  wide  stair. 


A  DATE  WITH  FATE  119 

She  stood  still  and  shivered.  The  rain 
had  matted  her  hair  and  a  greenish  stream 
ran  from  her  hat  and  dripped  onto  the  floor. 
She  pressed  her  soggy  gloves  together  and 
smiled  as  she  thought  of  the  boy's  last  words : 
"I'll  bring  the  car  around  for  you  at  nine 
in  the  morning."  The  pounding  of  her 
heart  shook  her. 

Her  husband  was  asleep.  She  burst  in 
and  woke  him  rudely. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear!  What's  matter? 
House  afire?  Jewels  gone?  Got  indi- 
gestion ?" 

"See  here,  Tom  Willis,  I've  found  the  man. 
I  can't  part  with  him.  I  won't!  She  clutched 
her  dripping  garments  and  glared  at  her 
sleepy  spouse. 

"Oh,  all  right,  Mary.  Thought  you  might 
resent  my  sending  the  chauffeur  after  you 
to-night  when  you  had  said  so  decidedly 
that  you  wanted  to  be  alone.  No  need  to 
give  him  up  that  I  see.  Glad  you  like  him. 
He's  a  bit  high-priced,  but  think  of  the  class 
in  a  gear  that's  shifted  by  a  college  youth. 
Awfully  down  on  his  luck,  poor  chap.  We'll 
do  what  we  can  for  him,  won't  we,  Kitten?" 


120        BLITHESOME  JOTTINGS 

Gleason  —  her  new  chauffeur ! 

Her  gaze  traveled  down  the  rose  brocade, 
hanging  in  graceful  folds,  at  the  windows, 
and  lingered  a  long  time  on  her  dressing 
table.  Tom  had  give  her  those  crystal  bottles. 
He  had  brought  home  that  exquisite  cameo 
surrounded  by  pearls.  Tom  always  did 
everything  for  her,  even  to  sending  out 
high-priced  servants  to  attend  to  her  safety 
at  night. 

"What?"  queried  Mr.  Willis,  in  an  un- 
believing tone.  "Yes,  thank  you,  my  dear, 
I  would  like  a  hot  water  bottle.  You  say 
rubbing  might  help  my  shoulder?  There, 
it  does  feel  better.  You  are  awfully  good 
to  your  dull  old  husband,  but  you  know  I'd 
send  out  and  get  the  earth  done  up  in  tin-foil 
for  ybu,  if  you  said  so.  I  told  Gleason," 
he  added,  y'awninig  comfortably,  "to  call  for 
you  at  nine  in  the  morning.  What  say, 
Mary?  You'll  get  up  at  seven  and  drive 
down  with  me.  Mr.  Willis  reached  out  and 
hugged  Mrs.  Willis.  "It  will  be  like  old 
times,  Kitten.  Have  you  shopping  to  do  so 
early?" 

"I    want    to    get    some    crochet    cotton," 


A  DATE  WITH  FATE  121 

murmured  Mrs.  Willis  meekly,  "I'm  going 
to  put  some  picots  on  half  a  dozen  towels 
for  your  sister.  It  will  be  nice  work  to  do 
in  the  evening  while  you  read." 


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